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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28653468">bend it like heck, man</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiyah/pseuds/aiyah'>aiyah</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Bending (Avatar), Alternate Universe - Sports, Bottom Zuko (Avatar), Breaking Up &amp; Making Up, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Pro-Bending, Service Top Sokka (Avatar), Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:07:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28653468</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiyah/pseuds/aiyah</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a disastrous argument with his boyfriend of five years, Zuko Feng takes on the mantle of the Blue Spirit and enters the probending circuit.<br/>Everything's going well until he goes up against Sokka in the Tournament of Fire Lilies.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>343</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Zukka 18+ Chaos Server: Jan 2021 Exchange</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>bend it like heck, man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i was honored (and terrified) to write for my giftee. i hope you enjoy!</p><p>(note: the probending in this is loosely inspired by a combination of LOK probending and the Earth Rumble tournament, so you got both solo matches and team matches.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>══════════════════</p><p>As far as sibling bonding activities go, cooking isn’t as terrible as Zuko had thought it would be.</p><p>But the quiche—the quiche—</p><p>In retrospect, the quiche was a bad idea—especially if it involves his boyfriend and his sister arguing over the correct recipe to use.</p><p>Azula isn't exactly known for her patience, and if there’s one thing she hates dealing with, it’s someone who has no idea what they’re doing in the kitchen. Case in point: Sokka.</p><p>This particular afternoon finds Zuko sitting in the living room, a cup of jasmine milk tea in his hand and Druk nestled on his shoulder.</p><p>“I hope they’re fine in there,” he says, jumping at the resounding <em>crash</em> in the kitchen and nearly dropping the bearded dragon in the process.</p><p>“I’m sure they’re fine.” Suki twirls the straw in her own cup of bubble tea. The two of them sit in relative silence with only the muffled sounds of the TV filling the air, accompanied by the chaos in the kitchen.</p><p>Zuko reaches up to his shoulder and absentmindedly scratches Druk’s head, a smile on his face when he hears tiny, satisfied bearded dragon snores in his ear.</p><p><em>This was supposed to be a nice, relaxing hangout</em>. Just a few friends getting together for a nice dinner and some Smash afterwards—except the dinner is going… Well. It’s certainly <em>going</em>, although Zuko’s not sure if it’s heading towards the spirit realm or some higher plane of disorder. He and Suki had been unceremoniously shoved out of the kitchen two hours ago by Azula to “watch TV” as an excuse to leave her alone in the kitchen with Sokka. Suki had proceeded to click on the TV and flick through the channels until she settled on a regional probending tournament on ESPN for some nice background noise.</p><p>(Not that Zuko even likes to <em>watch</em> probending. Probending leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that he can’t seem to swallow down, and watching it onscreen kicks up a lot of emotions that he’d rather not think about right now, thank you very much.)</p><p>A resounding bang echoes in the kitchen and Zuko looks over at Suki, wondering how someone could look so nonchalant in the face of the loud, menacing noises coming from the kitchen. The sound of glass shattering has Zuko bolting from his seat, only for Suki to grab his arm.</p><p>“Relax. I’m sure they’ve all got it covered.”</p><p>Zuko narrows his eyes. “Are you sure?”</p><p>“Absolutely sure.” Suki grins—and then her smile drops almost instantaneously at the screeching “<em>NOT MY QUICHE, YOU IDIOT</em>” from the kitchen, followed by the sound of pounding footsteps. Something blue crashes straight into Zuko’s lap, a human-shaped blob that startles Druk up and away towards a safer perch.</p><p>Azula appears next in a gust of flame and fury, her eyes positively murderous as she brandishes a large kitchen knife in her hand.</p><p>“Sokka?” Azula asks, and Zuko shudders instinctively at his sister’s voice. It’s that same, scarily sweet tone she uses when Druk misbehaves, the kind that scares even the craziest of Karens at the farmer’s market—but that’s Azula for you.</p><p>The blob burrows even deeper into Zuko’s chest in response.</p><p>Azula’s twirling the knife in dangerous loops around her fingers now. “Sokka?”</p><p>The blob shivers.</p><p>“Oh, what did he do now?” Suki looks completely calm, taking another tiny sip from her cup. Druk has somehow found his way into her lap, yawning widely before settling in the crook of her arm and closing his tiny eyes.</p><p>“<em>My quiche</em>,” Azula hisses, eyes a fiery amber that threatens to set the entire room ablaze. “<em>He ruined it</em>.”</p><p>“He did?” Zuko sighs at the quivering blob in his arms, and he carefully extracts his arms and moves to pull down the hoodie, looking straight into his boyfriend’s panicked face. Sokka’s sea-blue eyes swirl as he looks warily in Azula’s direction, then at Suki, then back at Azula before wrapping his arms around Zuko’s chest and squeezing him into a rib-cracking hug.</p><p>Zuko shakes his head as he pats his boyfriend’s shoulder comfortingly. He’s sure that whatever culinary catastrophe Sokka’s cooked up, it can’t be quite as terrible as Azula makes it out to be.</p><p>(Then again, Azula is known to be quite fanatical as far as her cooking is concerned. Watching <em>Chopped</em> with her is like walking through an abandoned minefield. You never know if it’s the contestant with the weepy backstory, or the secret “exotic” ingredients, or the contestants’ use of the ice cream machine that’ll set her off.)</p><p>“Is it really that bad?” Suki pats the space next to her on the couch and tugs on her girlfriend’s arm with the other. Azula slides onto the couch without hesitation, the knife still poised in her hand. “I mean, Sokka’s not the best at cooking—”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>“—but it can’t be that bad, can it?”</p><p>Azula grits her teeth, and Zuko has a sinking feeling that he’s definitely seen this look before. It reminds him of that one time at the farmer’s market when some old lady tried to swindle her way out of paying less for a carton of organic matsutake at Azula’s stand. Zuko’s sister hadn’t budged one inch, hands on her hips as she launched into a lecture about the benefits of lightning-struck fungiculture and how <em>yes, you idiotic bitch, these mushrooms are organically sourced and hand-cultivated, and if you don’t like them, kindly fuck off</em>. The lady had left empty-handed and embarrassed, while Zuko watched with disconcerting fascination as Azula picked up the abandoned carton and whispered quietly to the mushrooms.</p><p>(…They haven’t been back to the farmer’s market in a while. It seems like Azula’s “Mushroom For Improvement” stand needs, ironically, more improvement.)</p><p>“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Sokka peeks up over Zuko’s arm. “I didn’t know that you weren’t supposed to use so many eggs.”</p><p>“Did you even <em>read</em> the recipe, Socks?”</p><p>“Don’t call me that!”</p><p>“Make me.”</p><p>“Oh, you wanna go?”</p><p>“All right, all right.” Suki waves her hands like the probending referee on screen. “Calm down, you two. I’m sure the quiche turned out fine.”</p><p>“It’s rubbery.” Azula drops the knife on the coffee table with a clang. “It’s rubbery and atrocious and—”</p><p>“And we’ll still eat it anyways, bluebird.” Suki places Druk in Azula’s lap. “Here. Have Druk.”</p><p>The bearded dragon hisses indignantly when Azula picks him up, and she scritches him under his chin until he flops down in defeat. Meanwhile, Sokka finally untangles himself from Zuko and slumps onto the couch next to him, casually slinging an arm around Zuko’s shoulder and pulling him closer.</p><p>Zuko looks at his boyfriend curiously. “Did you really not read the recipe?”</p><p>“Recipe, shmecipe.” Sokka shrugs. “I just figured it would taste fine.”</p><p>“Taste fine?” Azula sounds like she’s about to pick another fight, except her hands are currently occupied by a feisty Druk and her arm is looped firmly in Suki’s grasp. “Really? <em>That’s</em> your criteria for a meal?”</p><p>“No?” Sokka counters. “I mean, I just figured, like, cooking is relaxed and shit.” He points to the TV screen. “Definitely not like that probending stuff or anything.”</p><p>The air crackles with static electricity, the TV stuttering as Azula fumes quietly. When the lights start flickering, Zuko briefly wonders how he’s going to intervene between his boyfriend and his sister.</p><p>“Okay, <em>boomer</em>.” Azula rolls her eyes. “Cooking’s <em>nothing</em> like probending—except for, y’know, the precision? The poise? The practice?”</p><p>“What’re you tryna say?”</p><p>“So basically cooking’s like probending is what she’s trying to say,” Suki jumps in, doing her best to ease the tense situation. “Look, I’m pretty sure the quiche is going to be fine.”</p><p>“Yeah, right?” Sokka waves his hand. “And we don’t need to argue about probending—”</p><p>“Yea, says the <em>nonbender</em>.” Azula says sarcastically.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>(<em>Uh oh</em>.)</p><p>“Like, literally.” Azula shakes her head. “You can’t talk about probending that way if you can’t probend.”</p><p>“Who says I can’t probend?”</p><p>“Dude, you can’t even bend.”</p><p>“And that’s supposed to stop me because?” Sokka’s voice becomes steely-sharp, and Zuko looks helplessly at Suki.</p><p>Sighing, Suki lifts her arm and waves it around like a referee pausing a match. “Hey, <em>hey</em>. Settle down, you two.”</p><p>Azula pouts. “But Suki—”</p><p>“As your girlfriend who happens to be a nonbender, I want you to know that I could take on any of them—” Suki waves her hand towards the probender title cards flashing on screen, “— in a fight.”</p><p>“But you’re <em>you</em>.” Azula says. “And besides, Sokka hasn’t trained like you have.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” Sokka squeezes Zuko’s hand. “That’s it. I bet that probending is as easy as pie.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” Azula crosses her arms, startling Druk. “Prove it.”</p><p>Zuko can feel a sinking feeling in his stomach as he turns to look at his boyfriend, only to see an unflinchingness in Sokka’s eyes, the kind that Zuko’s only seen a handful of times in the five years they’ve been together.</p><p>“And what’s in it for me?”</p><p>“Pride?” Azula offers.</p><p>“Not good enough.”</p><p>“Damn.” Azula snaps her fingers. “A year’s worth of free mushrooms.”</p><p>“The matsutakes?”</p><p>“Fuck no, Socks. I gotta make money somehow.”</p><p>“<em>Don’t call me that</em>.”</p><p>“Okay, boomer,” Azula drawls.</p><p>“Let’s up the stakes.” Sokka’s tone is light and sharp. “Loser has to go to the top of Cuowu 404 and scream that the winner is the best bender on the entire planet.”</p><p>Zuko wants to say <em>hold on, this sounds like a terrible idea</em>—maybe throw in a little <em>let’s talk about this over the quiche, okay?</em>—but before the words even have a chance to leave his mouth, Sokka’s already pulling himself up off the couch and walking towards Azula. The tension in the room is so thick, Druk squeaks in alarm.</p><p>Zuko thinks he’s about to pass out.</p><p>Sokka holds his hand out. “Deal.”</p><p>“Shake on it?” Azula scoffs. “What are we, fifth graders?”</p><p>But she shakes his hand anyways, a grin on her face, and Zuko swears he can hear the dull roar of thunder echoing ominously in the distance on this sunny afternoon.</p><p>A feeling of dread settles in his stomach, and it definitely has nothing to do with the quiche—the quiche, which surprisingly, turns out to be delicious. Zuko doesn’t want to admit it, but the thought of Sokka out in the ring, fighting against other benders without being able to bend—the thought washes over Zuko in a tide of apprehension.</p><p>(Blood, tears, stinging pain—</p><p><em>Get a grip, Zuko</em>.)</p><p>The feeling curdles in his stomach as he finishes cleaning up the dishes and watching Suki decimate Sokka at Smash, and it lingers around when the two girls finally leave later that night. Zuko’s fingers tremble as he plays with the edges of his shirt, wondering how he could talk about this whole probending-bet-thing with Sokka.</p><p>“Are you sure about this?” he asks when Sokka comes out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Probending is extremely dangerous.”</p><p>“Most things in life are dangerous, sweetheart.” Sokka grins at him, a flurry of water flinging every which way when he suddenly shakes his head.</p><p>Zuko pulls back in distaste. “<em>So-kka!</em>”</p><p>“Sorry.” Sokka doesn’t look apologetic at all.</p><p>“Like I was saying—” Zuko coughs. “Probending is dangerous. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”</p><p>“Isn’t getting hurt just part of the process?”</p><p>“Not like <em>that</em>,” Zuko whines, poking his boyfriend in the chest. “I’m serious, Sokka. Promise me you’ll stop if you get hurt.”</p><p>“Alright, alright.” Sokka clutches his chest dramatically. “I promise you I’ll stop if something drastic happens, okay?”</p><p>But the way he says it—there’s just the slightest bit of hesitation, a touch of breath that catches the edges of Zuko’s anxiety and doesn’t let go.</p><p>Zuko gets up from his seat, walking over to the window and opening it. He instinctively reaches for the cigarette pack that he usually carries around in his pocket, pulling it out and shaking it in his hands.</p><p><em>Fuck. I need to buy more</em>.</p><p>Zuko grabs onto the edge of the balcony and looks down, the cigarette a dull firefly hovering in his left hand. The night breeze is cool—soothing, almost—but it does little to quell the sense of unease building in his stomach.</p><p>“You okay, babe?” A voice echoes from behind him and an arm loops around his waist. Sokka leans against Zuko, plucking the cigarette from in-between Zuko’s fingers and dangling it over the ledge.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Zuko says, hands scrambling to catch the cigarette before Sokka casually flicks it out into the night sky, a tiny white speck disappearing in the dark below. “Hey! That was a perfectly good—”</p><p>Sokka’s lips find his, all sweet and warm and soft—no rush of nicotine, just tenderness.</p><p>“Coming?” And when Sokka finally pulls away, eyes shimmering in the moonlight and teeth gleaming as he kisses Zuko’s knuckles—Zuko lets go of the edge, tossing the pack to the side before Sokka pulls him towards the bed.</p><p>But something’s still nipping away at Zuko’s mind, and the dragon in his belly twists and turns, coiling as Zuko wiggles his way in between Sokka’s arms and tries to fall asleep.</p><p>══════════════════</p><p>Zuko’s never seen Sokka quite so obsessed with pursuing something—besides the time he had spent over <em>an entire year</em> chasing after Zuko after the two of them met during a consulting club meeting during sophomore year of college. It was love at first handshake—as they say in the business world—and Zuko and Sokka danced the awkward tango around each other in between accounting and programming classes until Suki—poor, exasperated Suki—had locked the two of them in her room until they finally sorted out their feelings. And needless to say, the night had ended in a flurry of soft smiles and fire-hot kisses, something that still makes Zuko blush whenever he thinks about it.</p><p>(He’s not blushing now.)</p><p>Ever since that fateful bet with Azula, Zuko’s watched his boyfriend throw himself into the elite world of probending with all the grace of a newborn giraffe—which basically means he’s all angles awkward, wobbly legs and curious eyes. Sokka’s been spending hours upon hours practicing in the gym after work and devoting what little free time he has left researching and studying probending videos online.</p><p>(All of this is pretty impressive, especially considering the fact that being a software developer literally means that Sokka has no life outside of his computer monitor.)</p><p><em>It’s not like watching probending matches are actually going to help</em>, Zuko thinks when Sokka fills up their conversations with talk about the newest probending crazes. <em>You can’t teach a dog to fly if it doesn’t have wings</em>, or something like that? Probending is definitely a dog-eat-dog type of world, and Zuko’s not sure how his boyfriend will end up surviving—or <em>winning</em>, Agni forbid—in the arena as a <em>nonbender</em>, of all people.</p><p>But Amaruqs are nothing but tenacious—just ask Katara—and Zuko’s worst fears about his boyfriend are confirmed when he discovers the stack of manuals and notebooks that Sokka’s stashed away in his desk, the ones that cover just about everything about probending, from warm-up exercises to defensive maneuvers to injury treatments—</p><p>Hold on.</p><p>
  <em>Injury treatments?</em>
</p><p>(Needless to say, Zuko promptly goes out to the nearest CVS and buys out the entire first aid section with whatever money his business analyst salary can afford.)</p><p>And then comes the inevitable: Sokka misses dinner.</p><p>Irritation prickles Zuko’s spine when he looks down at his phone, reading the string of apologetic texts about an impromptu sparring session the day of that coincides with the one time of day that he shares with Zuko, when their busy schedules finally match up. His shoulders slump when he realizes that he’s about to go home to a dark and silent apartment by himself. He had been planning on cooking katsu curry—Sokka’s favorite—that night, had even pulled out the pork to defrost and set the rice cooker to finish right when he got home.</p><p><em>It’s just one time, right?</em> Zuko cuts up the potatoes and carrots into rangiri wedges and places them off to the side. <em>He’ll be home soon, don’t you worry</em>.</p><p>But as the clock ticks closer and closer to nine with no sign of a text or a phone call, Zuko finally sits at the dining table, a single light illuminating the plate in front of him. The pork katsu juicy and crunchy, the curry is rich and spicy and sweet with a touch of apple, but it’s not enough to fill the gaping hole in Zuko’s stomach as he idly pushes the rice around his plate, foot tapping to the rhythm of the clock on the wall.</p><p>(Sokka does come back much later, when Zuko’s huddled in bed with a turtle plushie in his arms, eyes flickering when Sokka slides in behind him and wraps him in a hug that smells like tea tree and lavender.)</p><p>The missing dinner becomes one, two, three dinners until Zuko finally admits that he’s getting anxious about his boyfriend’s practices, wondering if Sokka’s getting enough to eat to sustain him through his workouts. He decides to cook up a bento, slicing sausages into octopi and cutting apples into rabbits, with some tempura and onigiri alongside a scoop of potato salad. Zuko puts the bento box in a bag and pulls up directions to Omashu Zone—the gym that Sokka had mentioned—before going out.</p><p>The neon sign blinks intimidatingly at Zuko when he approaches, and he leans against a bike rack, tapping out the beginning of a text message to Sokka—</p><p>—only to see Sokka rounding the corner, laughing as he talked to the group of guys surrounding him.</p><p>A sudden, unfamiliar pain sears its way through Zuko’s lungs as he watches Sokka walking through the gym door, and the text message is quickly forgotten, hastily deleted as Zuko sprints home, bag flapping behind him.</p><p>Zuko wonders why his heart aches so much.</p><p>The tempura is cold and soggy but he eats it all anyways, the taste of regret a sting on his tongue.</p><p>But Zuko swallows it all in anyways—his sharp words, bitter retorts, fiery complaints—he swallows it all inside, because the last thing he wants to do is to stand in the way of Sokka’s dreams. He tries to be supportive—he really does, in his own way—but the annoyance still bubbles under his skin whenever he sees Sokka coming back from practice with his arms wrapped in white or a touch of a Band-Aid on his face. Zuko can’t seem to understand why his boyfriend would enjoy doing something that gets him injured, and this confusion makes way for irritation, boiling over into a tense standoff one weekend morning, when Zuko’s standing in the kitchen, staring at the fluffy pancakes jiggling in the pan on the stove.</p><p>“You wanna do anything today, babe?” Sokka comes up from behind and leans his head against Zuko’s shoulder.</p><p>“Not particularly.” Zuko runs the spatula underneath a pancake. <em>Not done yet</em>.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Sokka leans in.</p><p>“Okay? I’m totally fine.”</p><p>“What’s going on?”</p><p>Zuko reaches behind him to pinch his boyfriend’s nose. “I said I’m <em>fine</em>, okay?”</p><p>(He gulps down his “<em>I wish you would stop doing this</em>”, the dragon in his stomach hissing.)</p><p>Zuko goes to bed angry and confused, eyes squinting as he scrambles around to find his plushie, curling into the tightest ball he can muster on the side of the bed. The dragon paws at his stomach throughout the night and he tosses and turns, only stopping when Sokka sleepily pulls him into a hug and nuzzles his hair.</p><p>The next morning, Zuko wakes up with a bird’s nest in his hair and a business card on the kitchen table, tucked underneath a plate of crudely-cut rabbit apples.</p><p>The card winks up at him, a graphic designer’s nightmare of hot pink and lime green that screams “<em>OMASHU ZONE</em>” in the most hideous font he’s ever seen.</p><p>Zuko flips the card over, running his finger over the sloppy lines of his boyfriend’s handwriting.</p><p>“<em>i know you don’t like watching probending</em>,” the note reads, “<em>but babe pls trust me on this could you come by sometime? we have a practice session today. i wanna show you the stuff i’ve been doing. i hope you’ll come :) ilysm &lt;3</em>”</p><p>Zuko doesn’t want to go.</p><p>He really doesn’t—he’s been able to give quick excuses in the past, flimsy reasons about long work projects and impending deadlines, and Sokka’s been so good, so kind about it all. Sokka doesn’t talk about his experiences at the gym, doesn’t ask questions when Zuko diverts their dinnertime conversations to something other than probending, doesn’t pressure Zuko into having anything to do with his probending—until now.</p><p>(Not to mention the fact that it’s the weekend, which means that Zuko <em>really</em> doesn’t have any excuse not to go watch Sokka beat up some people at the gym.)</p><p>Sighing, Zuko tosses the card off to the side and picks up a rabbit apple. He smiles at the jagged edges and bites down, summer-sweet seeping into his senses as he sits back in the chair and looks out at the jagged skyline through the window.</p><p>Azula shows up unannounced at the front door, clicking her heels incessantly as she strides in, backpack over one shoulder and a plastic bag dangling in her hands.</p><p>“I got you some mochi,” she says, dropping the bag on the kitchen table and picking up the discarded card. “What’s this?”</p><p>Zuko makes a move to grab it but Azula is just too fast for him, ducking out of the way at the last minute and waving the card over her head.</p><p>“Give it back—”</p><p>“‘<em>I know you don’t like watching probending</em>’—” Azula wrinkles her nose and <em>fuck, why is she reading the card out loud</em>, “—spirits, does your boyfriend know how to spell?”</p><p>“Give it back!”</p><p>“It seems like he really wants you to go.” Azula dangles the card just out of Zuko’s reach.</p><p>Zuko slumps down in defeat, opting to open the plastic bag instead, the smell of warm mochi and peanuts filling the air. He opens up the first container, tugging on a piece of mochi with a toothpick and watching the sticky, still-warm treat sag downwards towards his hand before he gulps it down in one bite.</p><p>“I don’t get it.” Azula crosses her legs and flicks the card in Zuko’s direction. “Why don’t you wanna go?”</p><p>“Reasons, you know.” Zuko pulls another mochi off the toothpick with his teeth, bits of peanut sugar dusting his lips. “The ones I need therapy for.”</p><p>“Ah.” Azula smiles wanly. “Same here, honestly.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Well, I mean, he still left you a note about it.” Azula stabs three mochi in quick succession with deadly accuracy. “I think it’d be a good idea to go.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>“C’mon, Zuzu.” Azula tosses back the mochi and chews loudly. “Think of it like, like—uh, what was that term from PSYC101?—exposure therapy or something?”</p><p>Zuko looks dolefully at his sister.</p><p>Azula narrows her eyes. “Zuzu, if you don’t start now, you’re never going to get over it. Like, it’s just going to haunt you forever, and I don’t want to see you cringe every time you see something related to probending.”</p><p>“Besides,” she adds, spearing the last mochi on her toothpick, “I kinda wanna see how good Sokka’s getting.”</p><p>The mochi disappears in her mouth. “And if he needs to practice screaming.”</p><p>Perhaps it has something to do with that stupid innate sense of curiosity that all people seem to have, but Zuko actually finds himself warming up to the idea of seeing Sokka at the gym. It’s not a <em>real</em> match, for one—Zuko isn’t keen on reliving those traumatic memories—and he’ll have Azula on the side, ready to pull him out at a moment’s notice if things get too rough. Besides, Zuko can already imagine his boyfriend’s response if he didn’t come at all.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Sokka would probably say with a sad smile on his lips, the kind that makes Zuko’s heart tingle and ache in all the wrong ways, the kind he wants to wipe off Sokka’s face with quick kisses and murmured apologies—</p><p>Fine.</p><p><em>Fine</em>. <em>I’ll go</em>.</p><p>“What’s the closest station?” Zuko picks up the empty mochi containers and drops them in the sink.</p><p>“Pao Family Mansion.” Azula waves her subway card in the air as she pulls on her heels. “I’m two steps ahead of you, brother dear.”</p><p>“That’s what you’d like to believe.”</p><p>“Oh, hush.” Azula rolls her eyes. “We all know who packs the punch here.”</p><p>“You.”</p><p>“Yup.” The apartment door closes.</p><p>The two of them walk out of the apartment and down into the depths of the Hucheng Metro Railway. Omashu Zone is just two stations and a transfer away, and Zuko shoves his earbuds into his ears on the metro, doing his best to avoid interacting with anyone else. Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 4 blares chaotically in his ears as he steps off the train, following his sister’s ponytail bobbing over the crowd as she effortlessly weaves her way through the throngs of people milling about in the station.</p><p>Azula’s chewing gum at the top of the stairs when Zuko finally climbs out into the warm spring air, earbuds twisted around his fingers as he tucks them into his hoodie pocket. They walk down an alleyway—Azula leading, Zuko following cautiously behind—until the neon green lights of <em>OMASHU ZONE</em> greet them with a hideous spray of fluorescent fractals in the air.</p><p>“Architectural design is my passion,” Azula singsongs as she strides through the front door, Zuko trailing in after her. The gym is huge, a gigantic atrium surrounded by several smaller rooms on the side, each packed with its own probender throwing themselves at all varieties of obstacles and training equipment. A dissonant symphony of grunts and groans emanates from all four corners of the building, and Zuko’s eyes are positively assaulted by the garish color scheme of neon pink and fluorescent green on the wall. The smell of sweat and stink oozes into his nose and he sneezes, sniffling when Azula hands him a tissue before walking towards the front desk.</p><p>“Hi there.” Azula leans on the counter and bats her eyelashes. “I’m looking for a friend? Name’s Sokka Amaruq. That’s A-M-A-R-U-Q. Wondering if he’s been around?”</p><p>The receptionist blushes. “Who’s asking?”</p><p>“Oh, actually—” Azula reaches out and pulls Zuko in by the hood, “—his boyfriend’s here to see him.”</p><p>“Boyfriend?” If the receptionist turned any redder, she’d be brighter than a tomato by now. “I’m sorry, but we don’t—”</p><p>Her eyes light up when she sees Zuko’s face, and a queasy feeling begins swirling around Zuko’s stomach.</p><p>“You’re—wait, aren’t you—you’re that—you’re Zuko—”</p><p>“And <em>not</em> another word out of your pretty mouth.” Azula grips the receptionist’s hand in a deadly-tight hold. “We’re just <em>visitors</em>, my dear.”</p><p>Fear flashes in the receptionist’s eyes, and she nods silently.</p><p>“Now then.” Azula releases her grip and crosses her arms. “Can you tell us where Sokka is?”</p><p>“They’re in the arena right now.” The receptionist points a shaking finger towards the back of the gym. “But I wouldn’t go there if I were you. I think they’re in the middle of a—”</p><p>“Thank you so much… Jin, is it?” Azula winks. “I guess we’ll be off.”</p><p>She cheerfully pulls Zuko behind her, ignoring the stares and the whispers coming from all sides of the gym. To his credit, Zuko’s pulled his hood over his face as best he can, loosening his ponytail and covering his scar with his hair.</p><p>The room is crowded, a maelstrom of people swirling back and forth, chanting and screaming and roaring over the sounds of a ‘90s mixtape pumping from the speakers hanging over the center of the arena. Zuko’s nerves are strong, but Azula’s fingers are stronger, pulling both of them in between people with muffled apologies and forced grimaces when Azula’s heels inadvertently finds an accidental target.</p><p>“<em>C’mon, Zuzu</em>.” Azula shouts over the instrumentals of The Verve’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony”. “<em>We gotta get closer</em>.”</p><p>“<em>I thought this was a practice match. Why are there so many people here?</em>”</p><p>“<em>Who cares?</em>” Azula tugs on his sleeve again. “<em>Let’s get closer. I don’t wanna miss out on the action</em>.”</p><p>The sheer inundation of people is just about enough to make Zuko faint, but he pushes on, eyes closed as Azula drags him to the front of the circle, right next to the center of the action.</p><p>“You can look,” Azula says as she pulls on Zuko’s ear. “I think Sokka’s holding up pretty well.”</p><p>Zuko opens his eyes—and gasps.</p><p>He’s not familiar with this type of one-on-one match, considering how he had focused on team probending in the past. The ground in the arena is bumpy and jagged, evidence of some prior earthbending. There’s a huge, half-naked man crouched in the center with the biggest muscles Zuko’s ever seen, a look of pure rage on his face as he glares down at a guy half his size, a guy that Zuko belated realizes is <em>Sokka</em>—except this isn’t the Sokka he knows, the one who tucks him in at night and leaves him rabbit apples and smothers Druk in kisses. No, this Sokka looks dangerously calm, a sword strapped to his back and a boomerang bouncing in between his hands as he switches grips, all the while staring intently at the opponent in front of him.</p><p>“Didn’t expect the newb to go up against one of our best!” The man next to Zuko sounds drunk out of his mind. “But he’s—he’s doin’, he’s doin’ a pretty good job of it!”</p><p>“My bet’s still on The Boulder!” Another man hiccups.</p><p>Zuko winces when the first man starts screaming. “<em>Oh yeah? Well I’m still rootin’ for the puny one</em>.”</p><p>(<em>What the fuck are they talking about?</em> <em>Sokka’s not puny</em>.)</p><p>The cacophony grows to a fever pitch when Muscle Man—The Boulder—when The Boulder finally rushes forward with an earth-rumbling lunge, the ground surging upwards in pillars that head towards Sokka’s position. Zuko watches as Sokka leaps into the air, launching the boomerang with his left hand.</p><p>The boomerang slams into the side of The Boulder’s head with some sort of force that has the earthbender lolling his head back and forth when he goes down.</p><p>Sokka lands quietly on his two feet, catching his boomerang with ease.</p><p>The crowd goes wild, some of them whooping, some rushing forward to check on the fallen man, but most are running towards Sokka, the murmurs of “<em>I can’t believe he won</em>” and “<em>it’s only a practice match</em>” and “<em>damn, how did he do it?</em>” colliding in the air.</p><p>Azula turns to Zuko. “Do you wanna—”</p><p>“No.” The word thuds against Zuko’s lungs. Something twists inside his chest but he isn’t sure what it is, an unfamiliar, scary feeling that has him feeling all sorts of nausea and delirium. He thought that seeing Sokka winning against an actual bender would give him some satisfaction or relief, but the real experience actually makes it worse. “I—I want to leave.”</p><p>“Yeah, I feel you,” Azula says as they sneak out the door while everyone goes the other way. “Guess I gotta practice those screams.”</p><p><em>It’s not that</em>, Zuko wants to say, but how are you supposed to put your thoughts into words if you don’t even know what your thoughts are in the first place?</p><p>The sky outside is sunset pink, almost purple when Zuko and Azula finally make it back to the apartment. While his sister lounges on the couch and plays with Druk, Zuko cleans up the kitchen, willing his thudding heartbeat to slow down while he prepares dinner. It’s a simple affair of miso cod and rice, but his mind wanders off with the crackling of the fish searing in the pan, tiny droplets of oil burning as they leap onto his skin.</p><p>He can’t get the image of Sokka flying in the air out of his mind, how the boomerang had hit the mark perfectly, how the crowd had swarmed forward to get a glimpse of the nonbender who took out one of the best earthbenders in the gym. Zuko can’t even imagine the legion of admirers that Sokka’s bound to have one of these days—and with the looks, the skills, and the coverage? He shudders, just thinking about the people who would recognize Sokka on the street and see him hanging out with <em>Zuko Feng, of all people</em>—</p><p><em>Think good thoughts</em>. <em>Think good thoughts</em>.</p><p>Zuko flips the fish over. The skin is crispy-brown, a savory umami-butter aroma filling his nose as he lifts the cod onto a nearby plate, bringing both the cod and a bowl of sauteed broccoli to the table. Azula’s already there, nose twitching as she arranges three bowls of rice on the placemats.</p><p>“You can put that away.” Zuko motions towards the third place setting.</p><p>“Really?” Azula looks up. “What if he comes home—”</p><p>“You can put it away, Az.” Zuko almost slams down the plate of cod in frustration. “He can get his own food when he comes home.”</p><p>They sit in silence, save for the sounds of chopsticks clicking and the mindless chatter Azula shares about her grad school work. The rice sticks to Zuko’s throat as he tries to swallow, a dull cough rolling through his chest before Azula gets up and grabs a glass of water for him.</p><p>“Jeez, you okay?” Azula pats him brusquely on the back.</p><p>Zuko nods.</p><p>“Damn.” Azula picks up another piece of miso cod with her chopsticks. “You sure you doing okay, Zuzu?”</p><p>Zuko finally manages to breathe. “Yeah,” he says, as if he can convince himself like this. “Yeah.”</p><p>“You look like you could use a drink.” Azula stands up from her chair. “I’m gonna go get us something from the combini downstairs.”</p><p>She walks out of the apartment, heels tapping, and Zuko finally lets out a sigh. He reaches up and runs a hand over his heart, over the sunburst scar on his chest, over his deepest memories. Zuko’s not sure why his entire body is acting up, an itch that suddenly takes over with no warning, and he scratches idly until a series of familiar clicks comes from the front door.</p><p>“—can’t believe that happened, dude!”</p><p>It’s Sokka.</p><p><em>Hold on</em>. <em>Deep breaths</em>.</p><p>Zuko looks down at his half-eaten bowl of rice and wills himself to make it through the next few hours unscathed.</p><p>“Gonna call you later, just got home. Bye, Haru!” Sokka rounds the corner and makes a beeline for the table, pausing only to toss his cell phone who knows where. “Babe!”</p><p>“Sokka!” Zuko hopes his smile isn’t as saccharine as it feels, all grit and no grin.</p><p>“Hey, hey, hey!” Sokka gives him a quick hug before walking over to wash his hands. “Man, I just had the <em>best</em> practice match <em>ever</em>.”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“No one’s even come <em>close</em> to beating The Boulder!” Sokka’s flailing around to dry his hands—<em>can’t you just use the kitchen towel?</em>—before he slides into the seat next to Zuko. “You made dinner already.”</p><p>“Wasn’t sure when you were going to come home.”</p><p>Sokka points to Azula’s place setting. “I guess I’ll—”</p><p>“That’s Azula’s spot.” Zuko’s tone is dull and dry. “Didn’t want your rice to get cold.”</p><p>“Okay?” Sokka sounds the slightest bit confused with a touch of annoyance. “Thanks, I guess.”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“So anyways—” Sokka continues as he shuffles around, pulling out a bowl and filling it with rice from the rice cooker, “—like I said, I had the best match today. It was really fucking awesome, with the crowd going all wild and that.”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>Sokka reaches over and nabs a piece of miso cod. “Were you there? I didn’t see you there, I think.”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“What, babe?” Sokka pulls back, placing his chopsticks on his place setting and staring into Zuko’s eyes. “What’s going on? You know you can tell me anything, you know.”</p><p>Zuko does everything he can to look away, but those damnable baby blues pull him back in nonetheless. “Mhm. Not much. Just tired.”</p><p>There’s something disturbing building up now between the both of them, something large and suffocating that paints the entire room with apprehension.</p><p>“Oh, uh—uh, um. I guess—uh, yeah. That’s fine.” Sokka leans back. “Just checking in, y’know. If everything’s fine, then that’s good.”</p><p>The two of them don’t exchange any other words throughout the rest of dinner, not even when Azula comes back with an assortment of shochu and a puzzled look on her face when Sokka barely says hi. It’s not uncomfortable, really (and Zuko’s experienced far worse family dinners in the past), but there’s definitely something in the air that eats the thoughts out of his mind before he can say them, before he can tell Sokka how he truly feels about the entire thing. Sokka had looked so happy, so content in the arena, doing something that he clearly enjoyed, and Zuko wonders if he can ever give the man he loves something he can’t even carry himself.</p><p>That night, when Sokka doesn’t reach out to pull Zuko into a hug, something cracks inside Zuko’s heart.</p><p>══════════════════</p><p>Truth is, Zuko doesn’t hate probending.</p><p>He used to be pretty good at it, in fact—all that kicking and punching and dodging truly does wonders for boosting adrenaline, and he and his team were actually the reigning champions in their circuit—until that day.</p><p>The tournament was supposed to be a fun showcase, but the entire experience was a disaster. Zuko’s teammates had gotten sick, so he ended up being assigned to a one-on-one “friendly” showcase that was anything but. If he closes his eyes, Zuko can still feel his heart thudding as he remembers staring helplessly across the arena as a waterbender twice his size came straight for him right when the match started.</p><p>It had taken Zuko a good two minutes to recover from the first hit, but by then, it was too late.</p><p>He had lost the showcase—but more than that, he had lost his father’s pride. Ozai had berated him all the way home, ranting about how no one in the Feng household would’ve lost that pitifully, how Zuko was <em>always</em> the exception, how Zuko couldn’t handle failure because he was <em>too weak, just like your mother</em>.</p><p>The pressure had built up so much it burst, and by the time Azula had come home from school that afternoon, half of the backyard was up in flames and Ozai was being led away into a patrol car, a traumatized Zuko lying on an ambulance stretcher and howling and clutching his cheek as the paramedic attempted to treat his injuries.</p><p>(Zuko hasn’t talked to his father since.)</p><p>Seeing Sokka come home with white bandages wrapped around his arms and small bruises decorating his skin—seeing these injuries kindles something painful inside Zuko’s chest, reminding him of that incident so many years ago. Honestly, he’s terrified of the inevitable phone call, the one where he ends up sprinting to some sterile hospital room with dread cloying his lungs and fear clawing his stomach.</p><p>The smile on Sokka’s face, though, is almost enough to make it all worth it.</p><p>So Zuko bites his tongue, a mask of nonchalance covering his face as he silently dresses Sokka’s wounds without asking, prepares midnight snacks after late-night training sessions, everything up to attending actual matches, because Zuko can’t bear to see Sokka in the arena.</p><p>The uneasy equilibrium persists for a few more weeks, even as Zuko drowns himself in project after project at work, trying his best not to think too hard about probending. Now here he is, sitting by himself at the bar in Embers and nursing his third cup of sake when Mai sidles up to his place at the bar. She’s wiping down a clean glass, staring impassively at him as he checks his phone for the umptenth time.</p><p>“Do you want to order?” Mai clicks her fingernails against the counter.</p><p>“I’m fine for now.” Zuko doesn’t even look up. He’s too busy tapping away on his phone, toggling from app to app out of sheer boredom and refreshing his messages, waiting for any message from Sokka.</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>“Still waiting for Sokka?” Mai asks, placing the glass on the counter before picking up another one and scrutinizing it, a scowl on her face. “He’s really late, isn’t he?”</p><p>“A bit,” Zuko says after a moment, dropping his phone into his pocket before nursing his empty cup of sake and eyeing the almost-empty bottle of sake on the ledge. He’s been waiting for over an hour, and even Zuko—Zuko, with his <strike>infinite</strike> patience, is about to run out. Literally.</p><p>“Well, you’re sure you don’t want anything? I could get Ty Lee to whip up—”</p><p>“It’s fine, Mai.” Zuko smiles wanly, ignoring the protests from the dragon grumbling in his stomach.</p><p>“You’re sure?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Mai rolls her eyes. “Let me get another drink for you, at least.”</p><p>“Sounds good.”</p><p>Zuko watches as Mai slides away to retrieve the sake, and he takes a deep breath before unceremoniously chugging the rest of the sake from his cup. The buzz of alcohol goes from a pleasant fuzzy feeling to something more anxiety-riddled, and Zuko wonders if something’s happened. Sure, his boyfriend isn’t the greatest at keeping time, but he usually sends a text or something to Zuko if he’s going to be late—</p><p>Unless he’s held up at the gym, that is.</p><p><em>The gym</em>. Zuko resists the urge to bury his head in his hands. He’s not exactly the biggest fan of the gym, especially the probending ones.</p><p>Zuko settles back into his seat as he surveys the bar around him. Embers is relatively crowded for a weekday, with a few people hunched over the pool table and a group of giggling girls squashed in the space next to him, the girls talking so loudly that Zuko can hear them over the sounds of the music from the speakers overhead.</p><p>“—and then I saw <em>him</em> at the gym today when I went to pick Giya.” The girl sitting closest to Zuko squeals. “He’s <em>so</em> hot.”</p><p>“Oh, you mean athletic Adonis?”</p><p>“Nini, you know that’s not his name!”</p><p>“Oh, right. You mean <em>Sokka</em>.”</p><p>Zuko practically chokes on his sake in surprise. There has to be a mistake—no, some sort of error—no, some sort of comedic, Agni-driven coincidence because there’s <em>no way they’re talking about</em>—</p><p>“Did you go to watch his latest practice match?” The first girl leans a little too far back and sloshes her drink, sending drops of some fruity-smelling cocktail splashing over Zuko’s sleeve. “I swear on the spirits, he’s the most talented probender out there.”</p><p>“Yeah, especially since he’s a nonbender, right?”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter to me, he’s still hot as fuck.”</p><p>“Kaya, you should just ask him out already!”</p><p>Zuko wants nothing more than to set their drinks ablaze with a click of his fingers, but he doesn’t think that Mai’ll be happy if he manages to set the entirety of Embers on fire, as fitting as that may be.</p><p>And speak of the spirits—Mai appears, handing him another cup of sake with a sympathetic nod. Zuko takes the moment to throw back the entire cup in one gulp, slamming it down on the counter. He can hear the girls tittering loudly next to him, but he doesn’t pay any attention to them.</p><p>“Hey there, stranger,” a familiar voice washes over Zuko, and he looks up to see Sokka standing over him, hair down in soft curls, a gym bag slung carelessly over one shoulder.</p><p>Zuko shakes his head as he pats the stool next to him. “You’re late.”</p><p>“I know, and I’m so sorry about that. Bumi wanted me to do a practice round with another newbie, and then I kinda lost track of time after that.” Sokka places his hand on top of Zuko’s arm. “Are you mad at me?”</p><p>“Not really, now that you’re here.” Zuko smiles at him. And even in the dim lighting of the bar, Zuko admits that his boyfriend is definitely a looker, with a cheeky smirk and piercing eyes that are sure to attract the attention of everyone around him.</p><p>Unfortunately, this also includes the girls sitting on the other side of Zuko, who immediately scream like some celebrity has just entered the bar.</p><p>“Oh my spirits. Are you—”</p><p>“You’re Sokka, right? Sokka? The nonbending probender?”</p><p>“I have <em>literally</em> watched your video, like, <em>two hundred times</em>, you have no idea.”</p><p>“Kaya, you should tell him—”</p><p>“Ming-Ming, <em>no!</em>”</p><p>Zuko glares at them, wondering if he could somehow set them on fire with his gaze alone.</p><p>“Tell me what?” Sokka cocks his head, and Zuko resists the urge to smack his boyfriend. <em>How the fuck has he not realized that they’re hitting on him</em>—</p><p>“Oh, nothing much.” The first girl beams, and Zuko has the horrible thought to wipe that lipstick-laden smile off her face. “Hey, would you like to drink with us?”</p><p><em>Would you like to drink with us?</em> <em>I swear on Agni’s right toenail</em>—Zuko’s one step out of his chair when he feels Sokka’s arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him in.</p><p>“I’m actually here with my <em>lovely</em> boyfriend,” Sokka replies, hand steady against Zuko’s chest. “If y’all wouldn’t mind?”</p><p>“You sure?” Another girl bats her eyelashes at him.</p><p>Zuko bites his lip.</p><p>“One hundred percent,” Sokka says. “Now if you’ll excuse us—”</p><p>“Hey, could I get your autograph, at least?” The first girl is undeterred, pulling out a napkin and a pen from who-knows-where and waving it in their direction. “My sister’s a <em>huge</em> fan of yours.”</p><p>(<em>A huge fan? He’s literally—he’s literally only been doing this for a few months.</em>)</p><p>Zuko opens his mouth, summoning some Feng-certified retort from his mind, but before he can say anything, Sokka’s already reaching out towards the girl.</p><p>“Who’s this for?” Sokka uncaps the pen between his teeth.</p><p>Zuko grits his teeth. Something slithers inside his chest, something irritated and angry, and his palms get so hot and prickly, he can almost feel the wood charring underneath his skin.</p><p>“Giya?” the first girl simpers.</p><p>“Sure thing.” Sokka winks as he touches pen to paper.</p><p>Zuko sees red.</p><p>He whirls around in a flurry of cashmere, rage buzzing in his ears as he walks away, looking back to see if Sokka notices.</p><p>Sokka’s still busy writing out autographs, the gaggle of girls laughing around him.</p><p><em>I see how it is</em>.</p><p>Zuko slams down a couple of bills on the counter, catching everyone’s attention as they turn towards the bar. Sokka immediately drops the pen and reaches out, but Zuko’s already ten steps ahead, wrapping his coat tightly around his body as he slams through the door, pretending that he can’t hear Sokka shouting after him.</p><p>The girls’ laughter haunts Zuko as he stalks away in the cool spring air, anger building up with every step as he heads towards the apartment, shoes clacking noisily on the sidewalk.</p><p>Maybe it was the bruises, or Suki’s phone calls, or those damn irritating girls—whatever the reason, Zuko can’t quite figure out why he’s so angry in the first place. He had been worried at the start, of course, but this? This sickening feeling suffocating him from the inside? It’s a feeling Zuko hasn’t felt in ages, hasn’t experienced since the last time his father had praised Azula for coming in first in her division—</p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p>(<em>Oh. So this is what jealousy feels like</em>.)</p><p>“I am one jealous motherfucker,” Zuko declares, ignoring the shocked faces of the pedestrians around him.</p><p>Zuko doesn’t want to admit that he’s jealous, but somehow, saying it aloud just solidifies something within him, like some uneasy armistice between his body and his mind. Reality sucker punches him in the conscience, and Zuko speeds up, muscle memory guiding him back to the apartment.</p><p>Zuko’s finally made it home when there’s a hurry of footsteps behind him. He turns around, just enough to see Sokka coming up from behind him, panting harshly.</p><p>“Babe? What’s wrong?” Sokka’s wheezing, chest heaving up and down as he braces against the wall. “You just ran off like—”</p><p>The apartment door unlocks with a series of clicks, drowning out his voice as Zuko wrenches it open and strides inside. He drops the keys in the dish next to the door and pulls off his coat in one swift movement, rummaging in the pockets before tossing it carelessly aside. The light from Druk’s tank wavers as the bearded dragon runs towards Zuko, squeaking noisily in the quiet room.</p><p>“Zuko—” Sokka begins.</p><p>Zuko ignores him, unsteady fingers scrabbling to open the white pack in his hands.</p><p>“Babe—”</p><p>Zuko flicks his fingers and a small flame dances to life, licking against the tip of the cigarette in a soft glow.</p><p>“Can we—”</p><p>“Leave me alone,” Zuko says, because he still needs time to process his emotions and the thoughts running through his head. The cigarette fills his mouth with the taste of ash and smoke, stifling any other words he has lodged in his throat.</p><p>“You’re always like this.” Sokka comes around into view, a scowl on his face as he crosses his arms. “Look. I’m sorry that I came late today. We had extra practice for the newbies, okay? I thought I told you that already.”</p><p>Zuko taps the cigarette against the ashtray, acrid plumes of smoke drifting in the air.</p><p>“And could you go outside to, y’know—” Sokka coughs, gesturing towards the cigarette in Zuko’s hand, “—I can’t afford to get sick—”</p><p>“Get sick?” Zuko can’t believe how deadly calm his voice sounds, harsh yet biting. “<em>Get sick?</em>”</p><p>He snuffs the cigarette out and stands, pulling himself up until he’s face-to-face with his boyfriend. The nicotine hums loudly in his veins, and the dragon inside his stomach roars. “<em>You think this is about you getting sick? And not about you and your probending?</em>”</p><p>“La, why’re you back on my case about probending? I thought we talked about it already.” Sokka narrows his eyes.</p><p>Cerulean clashes against amber.</p><p>“No, Sokka.” Zuko’s words are sharp. “No, we’ve never <em>talked</em> about it, you idiot.”</p><p>“Talked about what?” Sokka squares his shoulders. “I thought we agreed on the whole ‘<em>I-stop-probending-when-I-get-seriously-hurt</em>’ thing—the thing, which, <em>you</em> came up with, remember?”</p><p>“It’s not about that!”</p><p>“Oh, it’s not? Enlighten me, Zuko.” Sokka sneers. “You’re just jealous, aren’t you.”</p><p>Adrenaline screams through Zuko’s veins and his entire body tenses up. They’ve had a few arguments throughout their relationship but not like this, the air growing stiflingly hostile with each passing second.</p><p>“You’re just jealous,” Sokka repeats. “Just jealous about what happened earlier today at Embers, right? With the girls asking about me?”</p><p>“That’s—that’s—” Zuko sputters.</p><p>“I knew it, I fucking <em>called</em> it.” Sokka spits out the words like sharp metal, cutting through all of Zuko’s defenses. “I <em>knew</em> you were acting up ever since I talked about probending, and Haru was—”</p><p>“Haru?” Zuko’s positive that his face is crimson red at this point. “Who the <em>fuck</em> is Haru?”</p><p>“A friend!”</p><p>“Oh, a <em>friend</em>.” Zuko rolls his eyes. “Just like every other friend you’ve made at your little probending gym.”</p><p>“Why’re you being so mean about me probending?” Sokka retorts. “Is it because I’m a nonbender? Huh? Is that the reason why?”</p><p>“Sokka, that’s not what I—”</p><p>“I always knew you didn’t want to support me on this, but I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt,” Sokka barrels on. “But really, babe? You could be a bit more <em>supportive</em>, can’t you? At least <em>pretend</em> you’re okay with your boyfriend—”</p><p>“Sokka, please.” Zuko’s completely helpless against his boyfriend’s anger.</p><p>“You know what?” Sokka throws his hands up in the air. “I need a break.”</p><p>“Sokka—”</p><p>“No, Zuko. I need some space.”</p><p>Sokka storms away towards the bedroom. Zuko’s rooted in place, feet stuck to the floor as he listens to the sounds of doors opening, of drawers slamming shut, of his boyfriend cursing loudly. Druk hisses from his perch, scratching noisily against the glass until Zuko finally pulls himself together and walks to the tank, lifting the screen cover and retrieving the bearded dragon in his arms.</p><p>“<em>It’ll be okay</em>,” Zuko murmurs to Druk, stroking the bearded dragon’s head softly. “<em>It’ll all be okay</em>.”</p><p>Sokka comes out with a duffel bag across his shoulder and an indescribable look on his face. Zuko hastily places Druk back into the tank, narrowly catching an object that Sokka’s tossed in his direction in his hands.</p><p>A metal key glints forlornly in the dim light.</p><p>Zuko’s panic finally gives way to a wildfire of rage.</p><p>“You know what?” He goes on the offensive. “This is all about you, isn’t it.”</p><p>“Zuko, you know I didn’t mean it like that—”</p><p>“So what? Fine. Just go.” Zuko grips the key tightly in his hand, ignoring the metal digging into his palm. “Go hang out with your new probending friends or whatever.”</p><p>“This is what I mean by you getting mad for no reason, Zuko!”</p><p>“Shut up, just shut up! And get the fuck out of here if you hate it so much!”</p><p>The words whistle through the air with deadly accuracy.</p><p>“You know what?” Sokka’s face is impassive, a blank mask in place. “Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll go to Haru’s and talk to someone who <em>actually</em> gives a fuck about what I want to do with my life. Maybe I’ll go train with people who <em>care</em> about me and push me up instead of pulling me down.”</p><p>He pauses before delivering the final blow. “And <em>maybe</em>, just maybe, I’ll find someone else who’ll <em>support</em> me through this.”</p><p>“Do what you want.” Zuko’s already stepping out onto the balcony, a fresh cigarette in between his fingers, his body jittery from the wave of nicotine from earlier. “Do whatever the fuck you want.”</p><p>He turns around so Sokka won’t see the tears wobbling on the edge of his eyelid. Zuko’s scar prickles, red-hot heat surging through his cheeks as his anger continues to assault his senses. He’s so furious, he barely hears Sokka leaving the apartment, the apartment door clicking shut with a disturbing finality.</p><p>Zuko stands out on the balcony, the cigarette burning towards his fingertips as he breathes in the night air, his body slowly recovering as a sense of calm engulfs his senses. He rests for a while more before snuffing out the cigarette on the edge and finally goes back into the living room.</p><p>“Sokka?”</p><p>The apartment is silent, save for the near-silent rustling of a piece of paper anchored on the counter by a ballpoint pen.</p><p>
  <em>Zuko,</em>
</p><p><em>I need some time to think.<br/>
</em> <em>Don’t worry about me.</em><br/>
<em>Take care.<br/>
</em> <em>I love you.</em></p><p>
  <em>- Sokka</em>
</p><p>══════════════════</p><p>
  <strong>[ <span class="u">THE HUCHENG CHRONICLE</span> ]</strong>
</p><p><strong>Q&amp;A: Sokka Amaruq<br/>
</strong>By June Li | January 12, 2021</p><p>He’s a software developer, cooking enthusiast—and now, budding probender. Amaruq, 24, is a nonbender who’s been taking the probending world by storm, all thanks to that one viral video of his one-hit KO that even caught ESPN’s attention last week. Courts Illustrated caught up with this unlikely underdog after a practice match at Omashu Zone.</p><p>JUNE LI<em>: How did you get started in probending, especially as a nonbender?</em></p><p>SOKKA AMARUQ: Funny story, actually. A close friend and I were watching this probending tournament on TV, and they [made a comment] about how difficult probending is, and I said that [probending looked interesting] and that I’d love to try it out. One thing led to another, and here I am.</p><p>JL: <em>Interesting. So, how did it feel when you won your first match?</em></p><p>SA: It was honestly… invigorating? And an extremely humbling experience, y’know, just being out there by yourself, one-on-one with your opponent. Especially with probending, when it’s all about strategy and skill to get the upper hand, y’know? Haru’s super talented and experienced, and I think the best part about the match was actually afterwards, when he came up to me and told me that I was one of the most [challenging] people he’s faced in the arena. That was definitely an ego boost.</p><p>JL: <em>I’m sure that you’ve had your fair share of victories and losses. Are there any setbacks that you have experienced so far?</em></p><p>SA: I’m definitely a glass-full type of person, yeah? I don’t focus on the setbacks when I’m practicing probending because it’s something I just have fun doing. So I think it’s less about setbacks and more about improvements. Like, for instance, I’ve gotten a lot better at time management and balancing out my work with my workouts.</p><p>JL: <em>And how do you think being a nonbender in the probending circuit has affected your performance?</em></p><p>SA: (Chuckles.) Huh. That’s kind of a leading question, isn’t it. Here’s the thing: I don’t think that being a nonbending probender affects my performance. Most people might think that nonbending would be a disadvantage, but I see it as an opportunity to push myself past my limits, to test out different strategies on the fly. And that’s the beauty of probending, y’know. Sure, you’re up against some bender each match, but half the fun is actually figuring out everyone’s unique style in the arena, depending on who you go up against.</p><p>JL: <em>As a nonbender, I couldn’t have said it better myself. Moving on—probending can be grueling. Do you have any routines or rituals pre-/post-competition?</em></p><p>SA: So what I like to do before my matches is [to] meditate. It helps me center myself in the moment, stuff like combating stage fright or the like, yeah? Sometimes I might give myself a pep talk, just to pump myself up, or I’ll talk to Bumi beforehand. And my adrenaline is usually pretty high afterwards, so I, like, take the chance to calm down and reflect on how the match went, maybe take some notes. Then, I usually go to Tiger Sugar and get one of their brown sugar boba milk with jelly and cream. It’s super unhealthy but I definitely like to indulge.</p><p>JL: <em>Things are about to get a little personal. So what does your family think about you and probending?</em></p><p>SA: Hm, I can’t say that they’re surprised? [My sister] Katara’s just worried that I’ll get injured, but I’m pretty tough, even if I do say so myself. My dad’s proud of me, I think. I grew up watching Monday night probending with him every week, so it’s kinda surreal, y’know, calling him and being like, “Hey dad, you gonna watch my match?” and hearing him get all excited about it. He told me that he records every single one of my matches, too.</p><p>JL: <em>Your father sounds like quite the fan, but everyone’s wondering: what about your special someone? Or a special someone?</em></p><p>SA: (Winks.) Well, wouldn’t you like to know.</p><p>JL: <em>Yes, I would. A lucky lady, perhaps?</em></p><p>SA: Oh, the lucky lady in my life is the old granny that works at the roast duck place down on 54th and Makapu. She always gives me extra on the DL. Shout out to Granny Wu. If you see this, I’m always down to collab! (Smiles awkwardly.) But in all seriousness, I do have a partner, yeah. We’ve been—we’ve been, uh, well—they’ve been a bit busy. Work, that [kind of] stuff, y’know. I miss them a lot.</p><p>JL: <em>Sounds like you’ve had it tough</em>.</p><p>SA: It’s a learning experience, that’s for sure.</p><p>JL: <em>Well, I’m sure things will work out. When can we hope to see you next?</em></p><p>SA: So actually, I’m participating in this showcase tournament in a few weeks. (Smiles.) It’s actually more of a secret, but I can tell you that I’m participating on behalf of the Freedom Fighters, which is a local organization that works with kids in foster care and helps them find educational resources and adjust to life after the system. I’m definitely looking forward to that.</p><p>JL: <em>It’s been wonderful talking to you</em>.</p><p>SA: Yeah, thank you for having me!</p><p>
  <em>June Li can be reached at lijune@ci.com. Follow her on Twitter @lijune.</em>
</p><p>══════════════════</p><p>The stark reality of Sokka being gone punches through Zuko’s gut, leaving a painful ache in its wake.</p><p>True to his word, his boyfriend has vanished from Zuko’s sight for the past few weeks, even after Zuko placed the key in their mailbox downstairs, along with a letter that he had written after one too many shots of kaoliang. The letter itself is too embarrassing to read aloud, but Zuko still remembers it all—his stilted handwriting, the tear stains in between paragraphs as anger, resentment, and sadness poured through from his fingers onto the page.</p><p>(When he had come back the next day, the note and key were gone.)</p><p>But Sokka—Zuko’s heart plummets for a fraction—Sokka still hasn’t responded. No phone calls, no text messages, not even the slightest hint of communication. And considering the fact that Sokka’s usually the one texting him—well, it certainly throws Zuko for an uncomfortable loop. He’s not used to making meals for one, or sitting on the couch by himself as he watches K-dramas, or curling up in bed without the warmth of Sokka’s arms around him. The entire apartment feels faded and empty, like the color itself was leached out when Sokka left that night, and try as he might, Zuko can’t seem to adjust to this new reality.</p><p>(Who was he kidding?)</p><p>These past few weeks without Sokka have been absolute hell.</p><p>Normally, a cigarette or two would be enough to calm Zuko down, to soothe his jittery nerves, but he finds himself coughing every time he lights one up, bitter smoke circling around his head as he gags and snuffs it out. He finally throws out the entire pack altogether, along with the few boxes he’s stashed around the apartment.</p><p>
  <em>Now what?</em>
</p><p>Two days into Zuko’s hellish depression and Suki drops by with a charcuterie board and a bottle of the best sake Zuko’s ever had this side of the Nan Shan River. The two of them stay up late binging Netflix, Zuko’s eyes growing heavy as he sniffles into Suki’s shoulder and cries about Sokka being gone. They spend the rest of the night binge-shopping online, Zuko buying way too many clothes from Uniqlo’s annual sale and bemoaning the fact that he might not even get to try on the matching pajamas with his boyfriend.</p><p>Azula comes around a few times, muttering about how filthy the apartment is and how Zuko needs to get a grip, because <em>I don’t think Sokka would want to see you like this, you heathen</em> before thrusting a broom in Zuko’s right hand and a dustpan. The deep clean results in a shining apartment, a couple of bulging garbage bags, and a still barely-functioning Zuko, dark circles under his eyes as Azula forces him to drink a cup of water.</p><p>“Hydration is key, you know,” she says. “Maybe if you weren’t such an asshole in the first place, then you wouldn’t be sleeping solo.”</p><p>Zuko doesn’t even have the energy to retort or even to push back when she drags him towards the bedroom.</p><p>“Didn’t you say you like baths? Maybe you should take a bath to cheer yourself up.” Azula dumps him unceremoniously on the bed. “I put strawberry daifuku in the fridge. Eat that when you’re done.”</p><p>So Zuko reluctantly follows his younger sister’s orders and resorts to his guilty pleasure of taking baths. There’s an entire row of shampoos and conditioners and body washes just for him, perched on the side of the bathtub that Zuko had insisted was entirely necessary when he and Sokka had gone apartment-shopping the first time. The two of them had christened the tub on their first night, Sokka doing his best to Tetris his legs into some comfortable position so that Zuko could snuggle back into his boyfriend’s arms. Sokka had started a preemptive tickle-fight, both of them jostling for dominance as the tub overflowed onto the bathroom wall. Zuko remembers how he used to take baths whenever he was stressed out from work or after he and Sokka had gotten into some petty argument over taking out the trash or cheating at Smash. There had been many baths when they had just moved in together, the number dwindling as Zuko spent less and less time in the warm water and more time cuddling with Sokka on the couch.</p><p>There’s just something so comforting about sitting in a tub of warm water with nothing but Zuko’s thoughts, his phone, and his bearded dragon sitting next to him. Druk squeaks his approval from his perch on the pineapple floatie bobbing in the space in between Zuko’s thighs.</p><p>Zuko looks down at himself. There are long-healed scars and tiny blemishes watercolored over his arms, his chest, even down to his ankles, mottled reminders of his past life in the ring. Zuko rubs a circle around the scar on his chest, a patterned lightning burst that radiates out from his heart to the top of his stomach, and he sighs.</p><p>A noisy <em>ping</em> from his phone echoes in the bathroom, and Zuko idly reaches out and paws around for it on the small stool next to the tub, frowning when he sees the notification fro the news app. He’s been reading a lot of news lately, mostly about the upcoming inauguration and special elections—but it’s all an excuse for him to scroll to the sports section of <em>The Hucheng Chronicle</em>.</p><p>(Because even though they’re technically on a break, Zuko can’t help but to keep tabs on Sokka.)</p><p>He taps past the articles about golf and ignores the ads about the baseball championships, pausing only when he sees a familiar smirk grace the center of his screen, taunting him with a Q&amp;A about his boyfriend.</p><p>Against his better judgement, Zuko clicks on the link.</p><p>Sokka looks <em>hot</em>.</p><p>That’s—that’s literally the only word Zuko has because the next thing he knows, he’s letting out a fiery sneeze, tendrils of smoke curling into the air and sparks of ash raining into the tub. Druk squeaks in protest as he falls into the water, flailing around until Zuko recovers and lifts the bearded dragon back onto the floatie, murmuring apologies under his breath.</p><p>The idea of Sokka being interviewed sets off a chain reaction of panic in his mind, especially when he finally gets a chance to truly read the article underneath the picture—<em>don’t scroll up to his face, you idiot</em>. By the time Zuko’s reached the second to last question, he swears the room is another degree or two warmer, steam positively diffusing from his flushed skin as he rereads the words over and over again.</p><p>“<em>I do have a partner</em>,” the article reads, and the dragon in his belly wails.</p><p>Zuko nearly jumps when there’s a sharp knock on the door.</p><p>“You okay, Zuzu?” Azula’s voice is muffled, but not enough for him to hear the concern in her voice.</p><p>“I’m okay.”</p><p>“Oh, good.” A pause. “Just thought I heard something and wanted to make sure you hadn’t, like, passed out in the tub.”</p><p>“Give me a few minutes, alright?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah.”</p><p>Zuko picks up Druk and the pineapple and places it next to his phone on the stool before pulling himself out of the tub and drying off with a towel. He pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt two sizes too big before walking out into the living room, Druk squirming happily in his arms.</p><p>Azula looks up from the couch, the remnants of strawberry daifuku in her hands. Druk stares mournfully at the empty plate on the coffee table and hisses.</p><p>“My bad.” Azula shrugs. “I’ll bring you more next time, okay?”</p><p>“It’s fine, really. I don’t even think Druk can eat daifuku.”</p><p>“Mhm.” Azula dusts off her hands and taps the floor in front of her. “Now c’mon.”</p><p>Zuko obliges, sliding backwards until his back hits the couch. He winces as Azula starts drying his hair with brisk movements, the towel flapping into his face with every circle.</p><p>“You gotta remember to dry your hair or you’ll get sick,” Azula tsks. “I can’t keep doing this for you whenever I come over.”</p><p>“Well, Sokka’s—” and the rest of the sentence dies in Zuko’s throat, snuffed out like a tiny candle in a torrential rainstorm.</p><p>“Sokka what?”</p><p>“Never mind—<em>ow!</em>” Zuko rubs the side of his head, wondering if Azula’s towel-drying methods may lead to early-onset baldness. “What was that for?”</p><p>“Dodging the question.” Azula continues, though her movements are softer, gentler now. “What were you saying about Sokka?”</p><p>“I don’t want to talk about it.”</p><p>“<em>Zuzu</em>.” Another tug, another yelp. “You can’t keep going on like this. Just wise up and apologize to him for being a dipshit about his probending stuff.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“But what? Just call him or something, like communicate with him about the problem. Neither of you is going to resolve this issue unless one of you takes one for the team and reaches out.” Azula pauses. “Plus, I hate this tension. It’s not even the fun kind.”</p><p>“But <em>if you just let me finish</em>—” Zuko crosses his arms. “He’s not even responding to my calls. Or my texts. Or my emails.”</p><p>“Emails?” Azula clicks her tongue. “Damn. That’s bad.”</p><p>She pulls back the towel and drops it to the side. “Let me think for a sec.”</p><p>Zuko sits there, hair falling in damp waves around his face as he waits for his little sister to decide his fate. Druk clambers around in his lap, claws digging into his shirt as he crawls up towards Zuko’s shoulder and sits there, little bearded dragon heartbeat pumping against Zuko’s neck.</p><p>“Zuzu?” The way that Azula says his nickname sends shivers up Zuko’s spine. He looks up, watching as Azula gets <em>that</em> look on her face, the one that makes him uneasy with thoughts about what’s to come.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“I think—no, I’m <em>sure</em>—I’m sure that I know just what to do.” Azula smiles, and it’s that smile again, the one that strikes fear in everyone’s hearts.</p><p><em>Oh, no</em>.</p><p>══════════════════</p><p>“Absolutely <em>not</em>.”</p><p>“Aw, c’mon,” Azula says. “It’s just a <em>training session</em>. Don’t be chicken.”</p><p>“Chicken is delicious,” Zuko retorts, but it’s already too late. He remembers how Azula had showed up unannounced earlier one morning after their talk, freshly-made taiyaki in one hand and a bribe in the other. Now, he can only imagine what the other people passing by them are thinking, watching a tiny girl drag her long-suffering brother through the front door of Shu Jing Fitness Center without taking a breath.</p><p>“Remember: it’s a <em>training</em> session, Zuzu.” Azula pauses for a second. “Think of it like a fun workout.”</p><p>Zuko takes the moment to pull himself out of his sister’s grasp. “A <em>fun</em> workout? You already know how much I hate probending, Az. Why are you making me do this?”</p><p>“I mean, you have to find <em>some</em> way to make it up to Sokka, right?” Azula rolls her eyes. “Maybe something like—I don’t know—being empathetic and <em>figuring out why he likes it so much?</em>”</p><p>Her voice ricochets off all four corners of the gym. Now everyone’s staring at both of them, probably wondering why Azula’s yelling so loudly.</p><p>“Okay, <em>okay</em>, fine. Can you <em>please</em> stop raising your voice in public?” Zuko blushes. “Besides, why are we at Piandao’s place?”</p><p>“Well, I figured that since you don’t like the bending part of probending, we could try something out.”</p><p>“But my joints—”</p><p>“Zuko Feng—” Azula glares at him and <em>oh, she’s pulling out the big guns now</em>, “—you are twenty-five years old and far too young to be complaining about arthritis or osteoporosis.”</p><p>Zuko truly doesn’t have a comeback for that.</p><p>Twenty minutes later, he’s crouching in the middle of a room, holding a wooden stick in each hand as he prepares himself for a terrible training session. A door opens and a middle-aged man walks in, his black hair streaked with strokes of gray.</p><p>“Hey, kid.” Piandao twirls a stick in his hand. “I heard that you wanted to spar?”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”</p><p>Suddenly, Zuko leaps forward, sticks crossed as he aims for Piandao’s weak spots.</p><p>The session is quick and dirty, the sounds of wood on wood cracking through the relative quiet of the afternoon, punctuated by the sounds of Zuko gasping as his lungs burn. He likes to keep himself in shape, but sparring is a whole other level above pushups and bench presses. And even though Zuko had set himself up to hate this—hate this entire idea of probending and the training session itself, he finds himself loosening up with every second, his movements fluid and light as he clashes against Piandao, a parry here, a slash there, something singing in his veins all the while.</p><p>Then Piandao disengages him with a flick of the wrist, Zuko tumbling backwards until he’s on the ground, staring up at the pointy end of a wooden stick.</p><p>“Not bad,” Piandao says, impressed. He reaches his hand out. “When was the last time you trained?”</p><p>Zuko grasps Piandao’s hand and pulls himself to his feet. “It’s been a while.”</p><p>“Still, that was quite impressive for ‘a while’.” Piandao picks up the two sticks and tosses them in the air with a practiced hand. “Would you like to go for another round?”</p><p>(<em>Would you?</em>)</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>The second round lasts longer than the first, Zuko humming quietly to himself as he anticipates Piandao’s moves, eyes flickering as he searches for a weak spot, an opportunity to strike. His legs are burning, muscles throbbing as he tries to keep up with Piandao’s movements, but he forgets about the pain when something tingles over his shoulders, a rush of pure adrenaline spiking in his chest as he loses himself to the rhythm of the fight. It’s nothing like the unpredictability of his fire in the past. Zuko can control every move, every stroke he makes, slowly pushing Piandao into the corner until he spots an opening—<em>there!</em>—and stabs.</p><p>The stick wobbles in front of Piandao’s throat.</p><p>“Well done.” Piandao says. “So. How did it feel?”</p><p>“Okay, I guess.”</p><p>But the adrenaline still tingles in Zuko’s chest, setting off a small spark in his heart. He has his own plan now, and he’ll do anything it takes to see it through.</p><p>The dragon in his belly croons softly.</p><p>══════════════════</p><p>As it turns out, Piandao is more than willing to indulge in Zuko’s plans—especially when Zuko offers up some strawberry daifuku as compensation.</p><p>══════════════════</p><p>Perhaps Zuko had been the slightest bit hasty when he had decided to enter the probending circuit as a nonbender. He had called up Piandao one afternoon, rambling about wanting to do some conditioning and strength training in the gym along with a few sword fighting lessons for reasons.</p><p>To his credit, Piandao hadn’t speculated on said reasons when Zuko showed up to the gym. He didn’t even blink when Zuko pulled out two cloth-covered objects that set off the metal detectors at the entrance. Piandao had just rolled his eyes before ushering his former protégé into the back room, shaking his head in disbelief when Zuko bowed deeply and asked for his guidance.</p><p>(After all, if you can’t beat them, join them, right?)</p><p>Training is rough, to say the least. Piandao is definitely as tough as he was eleven years ago, the man practically dancing circles around Zuko during warmups and sparring practice. Over the next few days, he takes Zuko back to the basics, simple jogs and calisthenics that have Zuko practically screaming on the ground, wondering where all his self-control and discipline had disappeared. Now, Zuko feels the slightest bit of an ache in his muscles when he walks into work, winces when he accidentally pokes his bruises with his briefcase, curses (silently) when Piandao raises the difficulty level every time he enters Shu Jing.</p><p>It all starts out with a few practice matches in the gym—mostly with Fat, although Piandao would join in, occasionally—before Zuko dips his toe into the lowest rungs of the probending circuit, dao in his hands and mask over his face. (The oni mask had been a gift from Azula when she studied abroad in Japan a year ago.) He’s not keen on revealing his identity to anyone—the probending gossip circles are scarier than the probending circuits themselves—and if anyone figures out who he is… Zuko doesn’t want any reporters snooping around asking questions.</p><p>He pulls his mask tight over his face during the matches, careful to protect his face at all costs. Zuko disarms his opponents easily, dao whistling through the air as he leaps into close combat, parrying boulders and dodging fire, grounding his feet into the floor against the onslaught of water that leaves the arena a slippery mess.</p><p>No one’s been able to knock off his mask.</p><p>Zuko finishes each match head clear and adrenaline pumping, even as exhaustion threatens to take over. He’s been at this for a week or two now, and he rides the euphoric high all the way home until he collapses inside the apartment. Most nights, Zuko’s too exhausted to do anything besides passing out on the couch to the sounds of Crash Landing on You humming in the background, Druk digging noisily in his tank for bits of cricket and mealworm to snack on.</p><p>(Crash Landing on You is Sokka’s favorite show.)</p><p>Sokka—and finally, Zuko thinks he’s starting to get a feeling for why his boyfriend enjoys probending so much. Being a nonbender in a probending setting compels you to be <em>that</em> much more focused and careful with your moves. It’s all about the challenge, how to push himself past your limits without going entirely overboard, to analyze his opponent’s every move and habit, to figure out the easiest and quickest way to end a match.</p><p>Zuko’s never felt this way about probending before. It’s always been suffocating, the brute strength of his father’s training pounding against his skull, a headache that just won’t go away no matter what. But probending now, this—whatever this is, whatever he has now—this is on a completely different level. He finds himself anticipating his matches, the blood pumping through his veins, his heart thudding a thousand lightyears a second in the moments leading up to seeing his opponent in the arena, the swish of the fan as the referee signals the start of the match.</p><p>It’s exhilarating and terrifying and satisfying all wrapped in one, and Zuko thinks he’s getting addicted to this feeling. The fire licks at his fingertips during each bout, but he pulls it into himself, relying solely on his wit and power to leap around his opponents, keeping them right within swords’ reach without injuring himself.</p><p>Firebending was frightening—but swordplay is entirely different.</p><p>Sokka—</p><p>Zuko takes a deep breath.</p><p><em>Sokka, I think I understand now</em>.</p><p>Another deep breath.</p><p>
  <em>Honey, won’t you come back to me?</em>
</p><p>══════════════════</p><p>
  <strong>[ <span class="u">THE HUCHENG CHRONICLE</span> ]</strong>
</p><p><strong>Million Dollar Maybe: The Story of a Comeback<br/>
</strong>By June Li | February 1, 2021</p><p>Sometimes, the greatest comebacks are the quietest.</p><p>Sources say that Zuko Feng was spotted coming out of the Shu Jing Fitness Center last Thursday. Shu Jing is known as one of the premier training facilities for probenders, which begs the question—is this Feng’s comeback?</p><p>If you’re wondering why the name Zuko Feng sounds so familiar, then look no further. Zuko Feng, 25, is none other than the son of the notorious Ozai Feng, one of Hucheng’s most notorious probending coaches. The older Feng was infamous for his excruciatingly difficult training regimens, and he reigned supreme in the probending industry, training clients like Zhao Gao, Jee Du, among others. He also played an integral role in the organization and establishment of the junior division of probending, widely credited as the reason why probending was able to spread to the masses, becoming the popular sport it is today.</p><p>The younger Feng was well-known in the probending circles as somewhat of a prodigy, and he—along with his younger sister, Azula Feng—dominated the rankings in the junior divisions for several years. However, an ill-fated incident involving the younger Feng dashed any hopes of a triumphant win at the championships. Ozai Feng was later arrested for child endangerment and willful neglect, charges that were later included in specific anecdotes mentioned by his nephew Lu Ten Feng, a former professional probender, in his personal memoir <em>Memories of a Street Lamp</em>.</p><p>Zuko Feng, it seemed, had disappeared.</p><p>Years later, under the cover of darkness, Courts Illustrated brings you the latest reports on Feng. Little is known about this elusive athlete, although sources report that he graduated university a few years ago and works in Hucheng. Other unconfirmed sightings place Feng at Kolau District and Mo Ce Street, two hubs for amateur probending matches. Many people have speculated that Feng’s return to probending may not be as simple as it seems, with speculation that Feng has returned on behalf of someone, although no one is quite sure who it is. Sources closest to Feng claim that it has something to do with Feng’s significant other, although no amount of investigation has uncovered any evidence that this person exists.</p><p>So the million-dollar question remains: why return? Unfortunately, no one seems to have a clear answer. Feng himself could not be reached for comment.</p><p>But whatever the case, we’ll be keeping a close eye out for Feng and whatever he does next. Perhaps this’ll be the revival arc we’re all waiting for.</p><p>
  <em>June Li can be reached at lijune@ci.com. Follow her on Twitter @lijune.</em>
</p><p>══════════════════</p><p>“Are you sure about this?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Zuko—” Piandao sighs, crossing his arms, the crease in his forehead deepening as he frowns. “I told you that this was going to be a bad idea.”</p><p>“It’s not. I’ll be fine,” Zuko replies, as if saying the words aloud somehow makes the situation any better. “It’s just a single match, right?”</p><p>“It’s a showcase,” Piandao says flatly. “A <em>public</em> showcase for charity. Look. I know that I was excited—elated, if I’m being honest—when you said that you were taking up sword fighting again, but why would you do this to yourself?”</p><p>Zuko scratches his head silently.</p><p>“It doesn’t have anything to do with the boy you’re seeing, right?”</p><p>Zuko chokes.</p><p>“So it does.” Piandao narrows his eyes. “I should’ve seen this coming, especially from you hot-headed Fengs, all of you.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“Relax.” Piandao shakes his head, sounding just about as reassuring as a concerned coach could be. “Got any idea on who your opponent is?”</p><p>Zuko shakes his head. The tournament coordinators had made it a point that everyone participating in the event would be anonymous, even going so far as to request that each probender sign up with some sort of stage name so the lineup would be a surprise to everyone.</p><p>“Damn.”</p><p>The clock on the wall in the break room ticks ominously, counting down the minutes before Zuko’s set to enter the arena. He fiddles with his water bottle, glancing up at Piandao before looking down at the floor again. His heart pounds frantically against the kusari armor strapped tightly against his chest. Half of the showcase is skill but the other half is, well, a showcase—and he’s definitely wearing the costume to show for it, if the suneate wrapped around his shins and the uwagi are any clues. Zuko has a few throwing knives tucked snugly in strategic places around his arms and on his legs—a gift from Mai—but he’s hoping that he won’t have to rely on them.</p><p>(He’s starting to wonder if accepting the invitation from the coordinators for the Tournament of Fire Lilies had been a good idea.)</p><p>“Having second thoughts, kid?”</p><p>The oni mask shines blue in the bright lights, scattering bits and flecks of cerulean around the room. Zuko runs a gloved finger over the lacquered surface and nods slowly.</p><p>“Hey, kid.” Piandao smooths out his ponytail and kneels down next to the bench. “I know it sounds cheesy, but you got this, alright? You’ve already worked so hard just to get to where you are, and I can see it in your eyes. You want this. You deserve this.”</p><p>“But I—”</p><p>“No buts, Zuko.” Piandao claps his hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “You’re going to go out there and decimate your competition.”</p><p>(He says this in a friendly voice, the voice that the nice uncle down the street would use if he ever caught you picking apples from his apple tree, the voice that carries an unspoken <em>my child could easily surpass your child in friendly competition</em>.)</p><p>Zuko looks up at his mentor. “Piandao, I—”</p><p>“<em>The next match is scheduled to begin in two minutes</em>,” the intercom cuts in, mechanical voice piercing and sharp. “<em>Competitors, please enter the arena.</em>”</p><p>“Go.” Piandao smiles at Zuko. “Go out there and kick some ass, kid.”</p><p>Zuko pulls on the mask, tightening it over his face before reaching down and picking up his twin dao and slinging them on his back. He turns towards Piandao and bows, slipping a tiny peace sign with his hand before opening the door and walking down the hallway towards his fate.</p><p>Each step forward feels like molasses, pulling him back, but Zuko soldiers on, even as his heart starts to pound at an uncomfortably high rate. The only thing he senses is the mask over his face and the dao strapped tightly on his back, holding him straight, his head held high as he walks into the glow of the arena—</p><p>—and into a sky of a thousand spotlights.</p><p>“<em>Aaaaand hailing from the Western Division is tonight’s challenger, a mysterious man who has yet to reveal his face… here comes the Blue Spirit!</em>”</p><p>The crowd roars above Zuko.</p><p><em>Ba-dump</em>. <em>Ba-dump</em>.</p><p>This particular arena is a lot larger than the puny garage-type courts and outdoor fields Zuko’s accustomed to probending in, with sloping sides and a large, flat court in the center. The referee’s standing to the side, clad in an elaborate kimono of reds and oranges that flicker in the limelight, a gunbai fan in his right hand.</p><p>And through the haze of bright light, Zuko can make out a figure stalking towards him, someone tall and lean, with pointed ears and—</p><p>Pointed ears.</p><p>
  <em>Huh?</em>
</p><p>Zuko narrows his eyes behind his mask, before skepticism gives way to surprise—</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Oh, <em>fuck</em>.</p><p><em>Agni, I do have the shittiest luck</em>.</p><p>Sokka looks absolutely radiant, eyes shining underneath the wolf helmet howling from his head, arms folded as he strides to the center of the arena and takes his place. He’s wearing a fur-lined tunic over a chestplate, with dark leggings tucked into his boots and gauntlets gleaming around his arms. There’s a sword strapped to his back and a boomerang hanging off his belt, but Sokka’s otherwise unarmed, a smile on his face when he kisses two fingers and raises his hand, the crowd roaring their approval.</p><p>“<em>And here comes the up-and-coming darling of the Southern Divisioooooooon… give it up for your very own Wang Fire!</em>”</p><p>Zuko watches as Sokka exchanges greetings with the referee before he pulls off his helmet in one swift move—and Zuko gasps.</p><p>Sokka looks amazingly carefree, the freckles dancing over his cheeks as he waves happily at the crowd. He tosses the helmet off to the side and shakes his hair out, sleek sienna waves tied in a tight wolftail that probably have all the girls in the audience in a tizzy.</p><p>(<em>Spirits, give me the strength to make it out of this match alive</em>.)</p><p>The referee gestures towards Zuko, motioning towards his mask.</p><p>Zuko shakes his head, pressing the mask tighter to his face. He has an identity to conceal—not to mention the fact that he’s sure his face is all shades of crimson right now, whether from the sweltering heat inside the arena or from the fact that his boyfriend, his <em>where-were-you-I-haven’t-seen-you-in-six-weeks</em> boyfriend, is standing right in front of him.</p><p>(Besides, the mask shields him from his anxieties about going up against Sokka in such a public place, and Zuko doesn’t want the fight to go down any differently.)</p><p>The crowd dulls to a low roar, people muttering to each other—</p><p>“<em>It’s time</em>,” the referee roars, brandishing his gunbai. “<em>Good luck, and may the better bender prevail!</em>”</p><p>The referee leaps to the side with surprising speed, and then it’s only the two of them standing in the arena, face-to-face, heartbeat-to-heartbeat.</p><p>Zuko crouches down and squares his feet, pulling one dao from its sheath and balancing it in his hand. The sword is light, grip rough against his gloved fingers, the delicate swoop of metal curving upwards to the tip. Zuko bounces from one foot to the other, eyes furrowed in concentration as he tries to figure out his opponent—no, <em>Sokka</em>—Sokka’s weak points.</p><p>Across the arena, Sokka brandishes his jian, pulling upwards and balancing with his left arm.</p><p>The two of them circle each other, swords in hand—</p><p>Sokka lunges forward, his jian gleaming in the lights as he cuts towards Zuko—</p><p>—that Zuko returns with a quick parry, the sound of metal clashing against metal deafened by the crowd’s screams.</p><p>Sokka moves to cut again, aiming for Zuko’s side this time, except Zuko leaps into the air, careful to make sure his mask stays on before he flips and lands on his two feet, light on his toes.</p><p>The crowd rumbles in disbelief.</p><p>The shine in Sokka’s eyes screams for the challenge, and he dashes towards Zuko again.</p><p><em>Bring it on</em>.</p><p>Zuko’s pretty much toe-to-toe with Sokka the entire time, careful to return each thrust, each cut with a short parry or a counter, sliding his blade against Sokka’s in a glide to throw him off-guard. The swords shimmer silver in the light, each screech, each clink answered with a resounding cheer or gasp from the crowd. Sokka lunges forwards again. Zuko may be as swift as a deerfox bounding through the forest, but Sokka’s gaining on him, a wolf tirelessly pursuing its prey until the bitter end.</p><p>The two of them pull away from each other, Zuko bouncing on his feet, endorphins pumping through his blood as he smiles behind his mask. He reaches behind him, tugging on the other dao before brandishing both swords before the entire arena.</p><p>Sokka’s eyes go wide, and for a split second, Zuko thinks he sees something in them before the moment shatters, Sokka repositioning himself for another attack with a steely-eyed gaze.</p><p>When Sokka leaps forward, jian above his head, Zuko grips his dao in preparation, a smirk on his face as he waits for the blow.</p><p>The second dao is slightly unwieldy, but he doesn’t pay attention to the imbalance in his left hand, only focusing on defending himself from Sokka’s vicious onslaught of blunt cuts. There’s the slightest sheen of sweat beading on Zuko’s forehead and slipping against his mask, but he doesn’t have the chance to wipe it off—no, he can’t, because there is no way he’s about to remove his mask.</p><p>Zuko’s dancing with his dao, carving crescents in the air, tangerine slices that burst with every step he takes.</p><p>Up close, Zuko’s eyes meet Sokka’s gaze—and all Zuko can focus on is the look of sheer determination in Sokka’s eyes. It’s the same look from the first time they were locked together in Suki’s room, hard sapphire cutting through the toughest of metals—Zuko’s amber has never stood a chance. There’s something curling in his stomach when he realizes just how feral and focused Sokka looks, lips curled in a thin line as he watches every single one of Zuko’s moves.</p><p>By the time Zuko feels an ache in his lungs, his feet have gotten heavy, dragging as he balances himself and braces for another attack. Sokka doesn’t even look like he’s broken out in a sweat, wolftail flying behind him as he twirls around in a whirlwind of fur and fury.</p><p>Zuko’s stomach drops.</p><p><em>Oh my spirits, he’s not even trying</em>.</p><p>Panic starts to set in, washing his sore muscles in a fresh wave of exhaustion. Zuko’s lungs are aching, the slightest itch of fire building up in his fingertips as he grips his dao like his life depends on it. He represses the feelings, a lifetime of self-discipline rearing its ugly head as Zuko bounds away and assesses his next move. Perhaps he could try to disarm Sokka with a quick disengage, not enough for him to drop his jian but just enough for him to be caught off guard. Or maybe he could go for an expulsion, find out just how sturdy that chestplate really is—</p><p>
  <em>Ssss!</em>
</p><p>Zuko doesn’t even notice the boomerang flying towards him at the last second, platinum whizzing in the air towards his head. He barely dodges it at the last second but it hits his mask anyways, knocking it off his face and onto the ground with a dull clang.</p><p>And now they’re staring at each other, both of them, chests heaving from sheer exertion as Zuko’s face is revealed for the first time.</p><p>The entire arena goes silent.</p><p>Zuko’s stunned. No one’s even come close to knocking his mask off—until now.</p><p>Sokka—Sokka looks shocked, mouth dropping for a fleeting moment before his mouth curls up into that silly little smirk of his that always leaves Zuko weak in the knees.</p><p>The tension snaps.</p><p>Zuko finds himself surging forward, dao raised above his head as he charges towards Sokka. The crowd titters as Sokka readies himself, jian in hand—as he’s promptly disarmed by Zuko with a sharp disengage to his jian and a searing kiss to his lips.</p><p>Sokka’s lips are soft, chapped, with the slightest hint of that infernal strawberry chapstick Azula gave him on his birthday, and Zuko’s deliriously happy, because finally, <em>finally</em>, he’s back right where he belongs, just him and Sokka—</p><p>—and the hush of a thousand wide-eyed, gape-mouthed spectators, pin-drop silence in the arena.</p><p>(<em>You are in public, you oaf</em>, Zuko’s brain cell screams.)</p><p>Mortified, Zuko pulls back and tucks his dao back into his scabbard, his heart thumping erratically as he darts out of the arena with some superhuman force, never looking back, ignoring the shrieks, the questions, the humiliation of it all.</p><p>══════════════════</p><p>Zuko’s heart is still shaking when he unlocks the apartment door with trembling fingers and stumbles through, narrowly missing the step in the entryway before he collapses on the ground, his dao clattering at his side. There are a thousand thoughts hurtling through his mind, and they range from <em>oh Agni, I can never show my face there again</em> to <em>I don’t even want to know what happened afterwards</em> and—and—<em>and</em>—</p><p><em>Sokka</em>.</p><p>Zuko buries his head in his hands. Of <em>course</em> the spirits are cruel, laughing as they play around with Zuko’s feelings like chess pieces on a board, snickering when he goes up against <em>Sokka, of all things</em> and <em>Agni’s left foot, you just had to kiss him right then and there, did you?</em> pounding in his mind like some aftereffect of a regrettable hangover.</p><p>
  <em>How am I ever supposed to face him again?</em>
</p><p>And now he’s going through the motions, taking off his boots and pulling on his slippers before he shuffles into the bedroom. The kyahan and hakama come off, Zuko shimmying out of the suneate he strapped over his shins before the match. He loosens the kusari armor from his chest, returning his focus to his uwagi—Zuko tosses it carelessly off to the side and rummages through his closet for something comfortable to wear. He’s not in the mood to think, to feel, to do anything except to take a bath and forget about it all. Zuko can barely remember filling the tub with warm water and splashing a handful of bath salts into the hot water. The bed is cool and inviting when he collapses in a heap, physically and emotionally exhausted.</p><p>And that’s where Sokka finds him later, sitting inside the bedroom with nothing but a thin bathrobe hanging loosely off his shoulders, an unlit cigarette dangling in between his fingers.</p><p>“Babe?”</p><p>The cigarette drops to the floor.</p><p>Zuko can’t turn around right now—no, he <em>won’t</em> turn around, because there’s a traitorous tear threatening to wobble on the edge of his eyelash and he can’t have Sokka see him like this, all vulnerable and shivering in the cool evening breeze—</p><p>—but he turns around anyways, furtively wiping away the tear and stifling a gasp when he sees Sokka standing there, hair tied up in that dastardly wolftail of his, a dashing suit cutting against his shoulders and a bouquet of fire lilies fluttering in his hands.</p><p>“You’re—shouldn’t you be—why’re you—” Zuko’s trying to process the fact that <em>Sokka is standing here in the bedroom and oh spirits, I don’t think I can’t handle this right now</em> pattering a frantic heartbeat against his aching ribs.</p><p>“Um, I might’ve just dipped as soon as they handed out the flowers?”</p><p>The fire lilies drift quietly on top of the nightstand, glowing oranges and warm reds that pulse gently in the otherwise dimly-lit room.</p><p>“So, uh.” Sokka’s wringing his hands, and Zuko resists the urge to get up, to reach out and steady them in between his palms. “So. Didn’t expect to see you out there tonight.”</p><p>“Neither did I,” Zuko says, even though he should’ve known better when he skimmed over <em>Wang Fire</em> on the roster, how familiar that name had sounded. He immediately drops his head, staring anywhere else but at the man making his way towards him.</p><p>The bed creaks when Sokka sits down, a familiar sound that reminds Zuko of pillow fights, of soft whispers, of sleepless nights.</p><p>“Sokka—”</p><p>“Babe—”</p><p>The two of them stare at each other, sakura-blush mirroring on their faces.</p><p>“You first,” Sokka says, because he’s always been a gentleman like that, always holding open the door, always letting Zuko go first.</p><p>“I—” and Zuko’s throat suddenly fills with the earthiness of the hinoki incense he lit earlier, all musk and thick inside his lungs, “—<em>I</em>—”</p><p>The panic sets in and he grits his teeth in frustration, willing the words to <em>just come out, dammit, because you have to let him know, oh, you just have to</em>—</p><p>There’s a hopeful sunflower smile blooming on Sokka’s face. “Take your time.”</p><p>There’s a new feeling building in Zuko’s chest, something warm and comforting and encouraging and before he knows it, he’s letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, looking up into Sokka’s face and tracing Sokka’s cheek with a trembling hand.</p><p>Zuko sighs.</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>The words suspend themselves in the air between them.</p><p>And then the dam bursts, a flood of emotions and words and thoughts rushing out, and Zuko’s completely powerless to stop it.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes downcast. “I’m so sorry for ever doubting you, for not being there for you at your matches, for blowing up at you and telling you to fuck off and not being there for you when you’ve always been so supportive in everything I do and I let my jealousy get the best of me, and—”</p><p>“Deep breaths, babe,” and Sokka’s scooting closer to him now, one hand reaching around Zuko and painting patterns across his back in smooth strokes. “Deep breaths.”</p><p>“—terribly selfish for me to throw away everything that we had, all the good and the bad, and over what?” Zuko throws his hands up in the air. “Over <em>probending</em>, of all things?”</p><p>(Oh, he’s rambling now.)</p><p>“Babe—”</p><p>“Just let me finish, okay?” Zuko presses an unsteady finger against Sokka’s lips.</p><p>Sokka nods.</p><p>“And then I just sat here and wondered what the fuck I was doing and why I hated hearing about you in the arena so much so I decided to see how a nonbender could become a probender, and I want you to know that—that—” Zuko stumbles, “—that it wasn’t out of pity or jealousy or anything like that. <em>I was just so worried about you</em>.”</p><p>“Worried?”</p><p>Zuko hesitates before he grabs Sokka’s hand, fingers scrabbling as he pushes up the sleeves, breath catching in his throat when he sees telltale bruises and scratches scattered across Sokka’s forearm.</p><p>“<em>This</em>,” he breathes hoarsely as he circles a fresh-looking bruise with his finger. Zuko can still remember darting in for an attack during the match, only for Sokka to parry it swiftly with his arm. “<em>Did I do this to you?</em>”</p><p>“Zuko—”</p><p>“This is <em>exactly</em> what I was worried about!” Zuko hisses. “Your injuries! You getting hurt—I just, I—I just can’t bear to see you hurt or injured or <em>Agni forbid</em>—”</p><p>He presses Sokka’s hand against his scar, ignoring the sparks dancing off his eyelashes.</p><p>There’s a quiet breeze floating through the window, and Zuko doesn’t dare to look up, doesn’t dare to see what expression Sokka has—is he disappointed? angry? upset?—because if there’s one thing in the world Zuko can’t bear to face, it’s the possibility that Sokka doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore.</p><p>Sokka wriggles his hand out of Zuko’s grasp, and something shatters inside—</p><p>—and he’s completely caught off-guard when Sokka reaches forward, fingers tentatively tracing the edges of Zuko’s scar.</p><p>“You never told me what happened,” Sokka breathes. “Was this—?”</p><p>Zuko nods quietly.</p><p>He’s wholly unprepared for the murderous glint in Sokka’s eyes, the way that Sokka instinctively raises his shoulders. “<em>I swear, if I get my hands on whoever did this to you</em>—”</p><p>“Sokka?”</p><p>“—<em>make sure they regret they were ever born</em>—”</p><p>“Wait—”</p><p>“—<em>don’t dare to touch another hair on my boyfriend’s head, I swear on Tui’s caudal fin</em>—”</p><p>“Don’t—“</p><p>“—<em>wanted to protect you, it’s always been you and only you</em>—”</p><p>“I—”</p><p>Sokka stops abruptly, color draining from his face.</p><p>“Oh, <em>shit</em>.”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>” Zuko’s eyes widen in confusion.</p><p>“Protecting you,” Sokka finishes lamely, rubbing his neck and twisting his fingers in his hands. “It’s always been you.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Just—like, y’know—” and it’s Sokka’s turn to stammer through his words. “Just thought that, y’know. You’ve always been the one looking out for me. I thought I could do the same for you.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Your bending, dammit!” Sokka sounds exasperated. “Like you can just casually light things up or fight people or blow shit up if you wanna, and I wanted to stand on equal ground, okay? Like, like Suki? With Azula? Like, Suki doesn’t bend but she can put up one helluva fight and—”</p><p>“Is this why you became a probender?”</p><p>“Go big or go home?” Sokka smiles sheepishly. “But honestly. I just wanted a chance to learn to protect you, to keep you safe from the bad stuff. And then it sorta spiraled into probending, which I happen to be oddly good at.”</p><p>“But I don’t like seeing you get hurt.”</p><p>“Babe.” Sokka clasps their hands together. “Babe, there’s always going to be hurt and pain, no matter what. But I choose to fight—for me, for my family, but most of all—for <em>you</em>. And so what if I get a few bruises along the way?”</p><p>He brings Zuko’s hands up to his lips and kisses the knuckles softly.</p><p>“<em>There’s no one else but you</em>,” Sokka whispers, and the sheer emotion in his voice is so overwhelmingly sweet, Zuko practically unravels apart at the seams.</p><p>“Promise me you’ll be more cautious.” Zuko trembles, his voice wobbling. “Promise me you’ll stay safe.”</p><p>“Sweetheart, it’s always been you.”</p><p>“And talking—oh, Agni—” Zuko stutters, “—we need—<em>I</em> need—we need to be open with each other.”</p><p>Sokka’s watery smile is all the affirmation he needs.</p><p>Zuko can feel something bubbling in his chest, the dragon circling his stomach singing happily as it curls from side to side in satisfaction.</p><p>“So are we—”</p><p>“I think that—”</p><p>“Go on,” Sokka says, eyes never leaving Zuko’s. “What were you gonna say?”</p><p><em>Now comes the hard part</em>. Zuko shifts slightly, stifling a whine when Sokka’s fingertips pull back from their grasp. “I—um, so—are we, um, are we good now?”</p><p>“Babe—” Sokka pulls him close into a hug, and Zuko honest-to-spirits is <em>drowning</em>, suffocating in the smell of cedar and spice and everything nice, “—we’re more than good.”</p><p>And then Sokka’s looking at him with those eyes again, all sea-storm blue crashing against the hazel forests protecting Zuko’s heart. Zuko’s seen those eyes before, determined and piercing, and he feels a lazy twitch stirring in his stomach—and suddenly the room is too warm, his robe is too bulky, his face is too flushed.</p><p>“You are positively unreal, you know that?” Sokka runs his hand through Zuko’s hair. “Truly phenomenal. Utterly magnificent.”</p><p>Zuko falls into Sokka’s arms. When Sokka runs a finger across Zuko’s lips, Zuko is <em>this</em> close to letting himself fall apart.</p><p>“Can I kiss you?” The words hang nervously in the air.</p><p>Zuko lets out a little sigh. “<em>Please</em>.”</p><p>A laugh, and then Sokka’s cupping his hands around his cheeks and kissing him. The kiss—the kiss is completely indescribable, like falling through the air, plunging into the unknown, like walking into the arena for the first time. It’s nothing like the hurried kiss at the end of their match, and Zuko gasps when Sokka grabs his arm and pulls them together, their chests colliding, their erratic heartbeats coming together into one.</p><p>“You wanna know how surprised I was when I saw you out there?” Sokka pauses for a breath, growling as he dips down and steals another kiss. “How shocked I was to see my opponent wielding twin dao and wearing the most ridiculous mask I’ve ever seen?”</p><p>“<em>Hngh</em>,” Zuko moans after a second, because Sokka’s playing preludes across his skin, fire-light touches skimming over his chest and down his thighs. It literally takes all those years of self discipline and meditation for Zuko to stay still, his entire body trembling under Sokka’s touch.</p><p>“And all of that, just to see <em>you</em> underneath when it fell off?” Sokka continues, his lips finding their way to Zuko’s collarbone and leaving a fiery trail of kisses in their wake. “Honest-to-Tui, I thought I died and went to the spirit realm.”</p><p>“I’m actually going to send you to the spirit realm—” Zuko seethes between clenched teeth as he reaches around and digs his fingers into Sokka’s back, “—if you don’t hurry up and do something <em>right now</em>.”</p><p>“As you wish, darling,” Sokka winks. Zuko yelps when Sokka wraps one lithe arm around his shoulder and pulls them both backwards, tumbling onto the bed in an undignified heap of silk and sweat. Sokka pulls off the tie around his neck and unbuttons his shirt, chuckling when he notices Zuko’s startled expression.</p><p>“Like what you see, babe?” Sokka drops his shirt. The pants go next, and Zuko’s self-control is vaporizing by the second.</p><p>“As <em>if</em>.”</p><p>“Did anyone ever tell you that you have a terrible poker face?”</p><p>“Sokka! I haven’t even—<em>mrph,</em>” Zuko tries to say before Sokka’s lips are colliding against his, teeth running along his bottom lip and biting so tenderly, Zuko sees sparks igniting behind his eyelids. Sokka smells like smoke and salt and sunshine, hugging Zuko tightly, nimbly pulling off the robe with one hand while tilting Zuko’s chin upwards with the other. They kiss again, a kiss so honey-sweet, Zuko wants nothing more than to drown in Sokka forever.</p><p>“You’re absolutely ravishing,” Sokka murmurs, reaching behind Zuko’s head and pulling out the hair tie. Zuko gasps when his hair falls in waves around his face. “So lovely. So gorgeous. What did I ever do to deserve someone like you?”</p><p>Zuko blushes.</p><p><em>Oh, two can definitely play at that game</em>, he thinks to himself as he hooks a leg around Sokka’s waist and pulls them together, groaning when Sokka grinds against him <em>just right</em> and sends another burst of sparks along Zuko’s eyelids.</p><p>“Want to hear you moan, hear you scream how much you’ve missed me.” Sokka reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind Zuko’s ear before leaning over and kissing him once, twice on the nose. “Want <em>you</em> to feel just how much I’ve missed you.”</p><p>“Tease,” Zuko snorts quietly, his voice fading into another heady moan when Sokka slides against him <em>right </em>there.</p><p>“You’re right, I <em>am</em> a tease,” Sokka croons as he continues his campaign across Zuko’s neck, then to his jawline, then to his earlobes, chuckling when Zuko squirms. “But you’re the only one.”</p><p>“I’m flattered.” Zuko presses his face into the crook of Sokka’s neck and bites down, chest shaking in laughter when Sokka curses. “There. Now we’re even.”</p><p>“Even?” Sokka grins. “Babe, we haven’t even started yet.”</p><p>Zuko’s eyes widen at those words. His lips part in a hoarse gasp when Sokka slides down and flicks his tongue against a dusky nipple, setting Zuko’s skin alight with a fire that courses through his tired muscles and straight into his heart. Sokka traces the lightning burst over Zuko’s heart, down to his ribs and back up again, laughing when Zuko’s face turns crimson. Sokka’s doing terribly glorious things with that tongue of his, and when he reaches down and strokes Zuko’s cock, Zuko cries out in frustration. He hasn’t touched himself in the few weeks they’ve been separated, and the desire roars in his ribcage like some touch-starved dragon.</p><p>“<em>Too much</em>,” he whines, grabbing a fistful of Sokka’s hair and tugging upwards.</p><p>“Hey!” Sokka shifts, and then they’re face to face, both of them panting harshly in the stuffy silence. “What was that for?”</p><p>Zuko captures Sokka in another tender kiss. “For moving too fast, idiot.”</p><p>“Oh, <em>Zuko</em>,” Sokka breathes before running a hand through Zuko’s hair and pulling, not enough to hurt but enough for pinpricks of pleasure to panic along his scalp. A humiliatingly high-pitched moan escapes from Agni-knows-where, and Zuko comes to the belated realization that <em>holy shit, that came from me</em> followed by <em>this is so embarrassing</em>.</p><p>Sokka’s eyes go wide, pupils darkening.</p><p>Zuko claps a hand to his mouth in shock, partially because he’s mortified, but also because he doesn’t want to see if his fire-lily-red blush has blossomed across his entire body at this rate.</p><p>“Sokka,” Zuko manages to whimper before the dragon twisting in his stomach howls again with want. “<em>Sokka</em>.”</p><p>“Yeah, sweetheart?” And Sokka’s looking down at him, soft sea eyes shimmering on the surface.</p><p>“Need—“ Zuko chokes out, because it’s just so difficult for him to ask for anything, “—you.”</p><p>Sokka smirks, and it’s that same heartdropping smirk that has Zuko’s toes curling before he knows it. “You need me to what, sweetheart?”</p><p>And there it is again. <em>Sweetheart</em>. The word wraps itself in Zuko’s mind in a comforting warmth that reminds him of sneaking smiles, of sharing blankets, of stealing kisses. Zuko’s never realized just how much Sokka’s words—no, Sokka’s voice—make him absolutely dizzy with need.</p><p>The words tumble out in a rush. “<em>Fuck me</em>.”</p><p>“Oh, sweetheart.”</p><p>Zuko can remember every kiss, every touch, every fuck they’ve ever had, but nothing can compare to how he feels now. Sokka’s easing him on his back and coaxing his legs open with tiny butterfly kisses that have Zuko practically begging for something, anything to numb the desire coursing through his veins. Sokka’s teasing his entrance with a lubed finger, gently like an ocean tide that crests smoothly over the shore and Zuko sighs happily, arching into the sensation of being worked open so carefully. Sokka’s murmuring, a rambling thread of praise as he lifts Zuko’s legs in the air and presses a pattern of kisses on his thighs, chuckling when Zuko gasps in confused delight.</p><p>“I love your hair.” Sokka twists a strand of ebony around his finger.</p><p>“I love your eyes.” Sokka reaches up and thumbs away Zuko’s unshed tears.</p><p>“But most of all, I love <em>you</em>.” Sokka presses a hand over Zuko’s chest, and Zuko thinks he hears the <em>badump</em>, <em>badump</em> of his own heart echoing in the room.</p><p>Sokka pushes in, all tender and wicked-slow, and Zuko <em>sobs</em>. It’s entirely too little and too much at the same time, and he struggles desperately as Sokka thrusts in, inch by torturous inch, until he bottoms out and Zuko lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. Pleasure pursues pain, and Zuko can feel something burning hot in the pit of his stomach as Sokka sets a torturously steady pace, brushing up against that one spot inside Zuko that makes him weep tear tracks into his hair. Zuko arches his back against that delicious stretch, eyes fluttering as Sokka fits him <em>just right</em>, grasping Zuko’s waist and tracing spirals against his hip bones. Sokka pauses to kiss him, once on the nose, twice on the eyelids until Zuko feels impossibly full and terrifyingly empty at the same time.</p><p>“You’re so—” Sokka grinds out between clenched teeth, “—so—so fucking <em>tight</em>. Wish you could see yourself now, all pretty, taking me like the beautiful boy you are.”</p><p>Another thrust has Zuko’s breath hitching in his throat.</p><p>“<em>Oh spirits</em>, who gave you the right to stir me up like this?”</p><p>“<em>Sokka</em>,” Zuko whimpers through a rosy haze of euphoria. “Sokka, <em>more</em>.”</p><p>“You’re doing great, sweetheart.” Sokka reaches up and brushes a stray lock of hair off Zuko’s face. “We have all the time in the world.”</p><p>And then he’s moving again, gentle, languid thrusts that set off waves of pleasure rollicking through Zuko’s entire body. Zuko can feel the dragon coiling in his stomach again, and he bites back a groan when Sokka reaches up to clasp their hands together. Sokka’s hands are strong and warm, his face all fierce and absolutely debauched when Zuko peeks up at him, and for a moment, Zuko wonders what he ever did to have such a loving person by his side.</p><p><em>Spirits, I adore this man so much</em>.</p><p>“Sokka, I—<em>ah!</em>” And Zuko’s losing himself in the sensation of Sokka bucking his hips and moving even deeper, so deep that Zuko feels like he’s two seconds away from reaching the spirit realm himself. Sokka is warm and thick and <em>hits all the right places</em> and Zuko wishes that he could bend this memory into his mind forever.</p><p>The room smells like salt and jasmine and hinoki, and Zuko feels something hot, something frightening that starts in his toes and steadily makes its way up towards his stomach with each thrust. He wriggles his hands out of Sokka’s grasp, reaching up to pull Sokka into another kiss that very nearly sends him over the edge. Sokka continues his relentless rhythm, and Zuko’s legs are trembling now with the sheer exertion of staying open, his entire body shaking as he gets closer and closer to—</p><p>Sokka stops.</p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p>Zuko’s absolutely <em>furious</em>, if the hot tears cascading down his cheeks have anything to say about that. He’s <em>so</em>, <em>so</em> close, and <em>just let me come</em> is on the tip of his tongue before he swallows those words into himself. Zuko whimpers brokenly—oh, his fingers are <em>definitely</em> leaving scratches on Sokka’s back now—when Sokka has the nerve to reach down and stroke his cock with silk-light motions that are steadily driving him to the brink of insanity.</p><p>“I swear to Tui and L<em>—ah!</em>” Zuko can’t hold back his voice when Sokka suddenly pushes back in with one swift movement, and he can feel his cheeks aching from how hard he’s been gritting his teeth to keep from screaming aloud. Zuko’s relatively quiet in bed, with decades of discipline and disapproval etched strongly in his mind, but another particularly deep thrust has him clutching Sokka’s shoulders and mewling into Sokka’s chest, his entire body quivering in desperation. The wall of self-control around Zuko’s feelings is caving in and he knows he’s getting close, way too close for comfort, so close that one move <em>right there</em>—</p><p>And Sokka’s leaning down and cradling Zuko’s head in his hands, his hips moving mercilessly before he nips Zuko’s right ear and whispers:</p><p>“<em>Scream for me, sweetheart</em>.”</p><p>Zuko melts.</p><p>He wails as his entire body ignites with fire-hot from his heart, screaming as wave after wave of pure ecstasy races through his body. Zuko can feel himself shuddering once, twice, three times as he comes, star-bright fireworks dancing along his skin. His entire body is pulsing, shaking as he rides out the most mindbendingly unforgettable climax he’s had in his entire life.</p><p>Zuko’s mind roars with static, and he’s trembling when Sokka shudders underneath him and comes, completely breathless when he finally opens his eyes to see Sokka looking down at him as he wipes Zuko’s forehead. Sokka’s grin is blinding in the soft light, his freckles tiny constellations across his cheeks as he grasps Zuko’s hand and kisses it lightly across the fingertips once more.</p><p>“How was it?”</p><p>“It—it was—I mean, it—” Zuko trails off, his ears tingling with a pleasant buzz that prickles all the way down to his toes. “I mean—”</p><p>“That good, huh?” Sokka laughs.</p><p>Zuko boops Sokka’s nose. “Better than good.”</p><p>“You know you love me,” and Sokka’s moving to nuzzle his shoulder playfully before motioning towards the bathroom. “C’mon.”</p><p>Zuko’s nearly forgotten about the water he’s drawn out for his bath. He’s sure that the water’s gone cold now, but it’s nothing he can’t manage—or at least that’s what he’s thinking when he tries to lift himself off the bed and very nearly falls over. Zuko’s knees are still quivering, his entire body still buzzing with that glorious heat from moments before. He grumbles and swipes a hand in Sokka’s direction when his boyfriend starts laughing.</p><p>“You—you, my spirits—<em>ow!</em>” Sokka jerks away, a hand on his cheek from the stifled slap that Zuko’s just given him. “What was that for?”</p><p>“For laughing?” Zuko looks petulant. He’s just had the most intense, galaxy-imploding experience in his life—of <em>course</em> he’d still be in shock. Embarrassment floods the remnants of Zuko’s thoughts, and he scrambles to gather the sheets and wrap them around his body before turning away from Sokka.</p><p>“Sweetheart, I’m not laughing at you.” The bed creaks, and Zuko can feel Sokka getting up, can hear the squeaking of the hardwood floor when Sokka kneels in front of him and stares up at him with doleful eyes.</p><p>“That was mean.”</p><p>Sokka’s hands are outstretched, palms up as he raises them in Zuko’s direction. “Babe, please. Is it okay if I help you clean up?”</p><p>Zuko reaches down and grasps one of Sokka’s hands. The palm is warm, calloused, with a labyrinth of old scars crisscrossing across Sokka’s fingers and trailing off past his wrists. Zuko traces a particularly garish-looking scar on the back of Sokka’s hand. The wound looks fresh, newly-healed, peach-pink skin peeking over a bump of ruddy brown.</p><p>A tear shatters on Sokka’s palm.</p><p>“Zuko? Sweetheart? Are you okay?” Sokka’s moving closer, the concern evident in his voice when he reaches up with his free hand to wipe a knuckle across Zuko’s scar, catching unshed tears.</p><p>“Who—I—<em>who did this to you?</em>” Zuko hisses out between gritted teeth, because the last thing he wants to see is Sokka hurt, Sokka scarred, Sokka <em>bleeding</em> in that Agni-forsaken arena of all things.</p><p>“Hey, hey. Look at me, Zuko.” Sokka’s tilting his head. “Look at me. They’re just scars from before, y’know? I’m completely fine, see?” He wiggles his fingers for emphasis. “I got all ten fingers, all ten toes intact. No broken bones, although that throw from Xin Fu from my third match <em>ever</em> back took me out for a few. Point is—” and here, he smiles brilliantly, “—I’m here, and I’m safe. And you’re safe, and that’s all that matters to me.”</p><p>“But I don’t like seeing you hurt.”</p><p>Sokka clasps their hands together. “Even old rocks, when split open, yield something new.”</p><p>Zuko looks incredulous. “Did you—did you just quote my uncle?”</p><p>“Hey, Iroh’s quotes can be hella inspirational sometimes, babe.” Sokka winks at him. “Now what do you say about that bath?”</p><p>Zuko motions vaguely towards his legs, all splayed out and wobbling on the bed. “I would if I could, but—<em>hey!</em>”</p><p>Sokka chuckles as he reaches down and cradles Zuko—sheets and all—into his arms before walking towards the bathroom. “Unlikely <em>pro</em> of probending, y’know.”</p><p>Zuko’s mortified. He’s never been held—let alone been <em>carried</em>—like this in his entire life. Part of him wants to struggle, to wriggle out of Sokka’s grasp—but the other part of him snuggles deeper into Sokka’s chest to listen to the soothing <em>badump</em>, <em>badump</em> echoing from his boyfriend’s heart.</p><p>“Can I tell you a little secret?” They’re in the bathroom now, the smell of eucalyptus and spearmint lingering in the air from the bath salts Zuko had sprinkled into the tub earlier. “Part of the reason I got into probending was so I could do this.”</p><p>“The teasing?” Zuko dips his hand into the water and closes his eyes, willing the rest of his energy into the water to heat it up to an acceptable temperature. The water bubbles to life, and the steamy fragrance of eucalyptus cloys Zuko’s senses.</p><p>Sokka rolls his eyes as he guides Zuko, one trembling foot after another, into the bath before bundling up the sheets and throwing them off to the side. “Maybe? But honestly, it was worth seeing your face when I picked you up like that.”</p><p>Zuko doesn’t feel convinced. He busies himself with the bath, taking care to ensure that the temperature is warm enough for his aching bones and weary muscles. Zuko raises a hand out of the water to admire the beads of liquid running down his skin.</p><p>He’s so caught up in thinking about how long he’ll have to sit in here to become pruny, he almost doesn’t notice it when Sokka slides in behind him, the water jostling tiny waves across the surface as his boyfriend arranges himself in the tub.</p><p>“Tub’s too small.” Sokka mutters.</p><p>“I don’t think this was made for two adult men.”</p><p>Zuko can hear Sokka scoffing behind him before he feels his boyfriend’s legs straddling either side of his waist. The water surges noisily when an arm comes around Zuko’s shoulder and pulls him backwards until he thumps against something warm and firm, something that immediately shoots into <em>badump</em>, <em>badump</em> hyperdrive.</p><p>“Better now?” Sokka’s voice is drifting somewhere above Zuko’s head.</p><p>“Yeah, a lot better.”</p><p>“That’s good.” They sit together in silence for a little while before Sokka moves around again and motions towards the line of bottles huddling precariously at the tub’s edge.</p><p>Sokka presses a kiss on Zuko’s forehead. “Let me wash your hair, okay?”</p><p>“Mhm.” Zuko purrs sleepily, his eyes closing as he barely registers the clanging of the wooden pail he keeps next to the tub. He shudders when warm water cascades through his hair and down his back before the click of the shampoo bottle echoes in the bathroom. Zuko can smell the fragrance of calming lavender and bright lemon filling the air and soothing his senses.</p><p>Sokka takes his time, fingers slowly working the liquid into a luscious lather into Zuko’s hair. He begins massaging the edge of Zuko’s forehead, gradually working his way up towards the crown before moving towards the temples, rubbing small circles with the pads of his thumbs. Zuko’s thoughts are barely holding on by a thread, and all he can focus on is the rhythm of Sokka’s fingers tracing patterns through his hair, small puffs of bubbly foam sliding down from his head and past his chest. This is entirely too wonderful, too blissful, and Zuko wishes that this night would never end.</p><p>“You good, sweetheart?”</p><p>“Hm.” Zuko stretches against Sokka’s ministrations, clenched fists kneading into Sokka’s legs on either side of his waist.</p><p>“How about here?” Sokka’s rubbing circles right behind Zuko’s ears <em>right there</em>, and Zuko’s giggles when Sokka leans to kiss the shell of his scarred ear.</p><p>“<em>So good</em>. <em>Don’t stop</em>.”</p><p>Zuko can feel Sokka’s laughter against his back. “Glad to hear that.”</p><p>They sit in silence for a moment longer, Sokka still working his way down the rest of Zuko’s hair, his fingers teasing out the tangles with swift strokes. He’s humming some melody under his breath, something soothing that sounds like paradise to Zuko’s ears.</p><p>Sokka stops humming. “Can I tell you something?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You—you have no idea how much I’ve missed this.” Sokka leans forward and nuzzles Zuko’s shoulder. “Just being in the bath like this, with you.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah. Plus, Haru’s a terrible roommate,” Sokka pauses. “And an even shittier cook.”</p><p>“Really now.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Sokka says, and Zuko can practically feel his boyfriend rolling his eyes. “He burned rice in the microwave, babe. Like, who else do you know could burn <em>rice</em> in the microwave?”</p><p>“Isn’t that what our rice cooker is for?”</p><p>“<em>Ex-act-ly</em>.” Sokka’s fingers don’t stop. “And then he started going out with this guy a few weeks back? Apparently he’s like a Youtuber or something. You have no idea how loud they were every night.”</p><p>“Loud?” Zuko wrinkles his nose. “Louder than us?”</p><p>“Trust me, sweetheart. You’re a screamer, but you haven’t met Jet yet.”</p><p>“I don’t think I want to.”</p><p>“He’s really not that bad—if you get past the screaming part.” Sokka reaches around and boops Zuko on the nose, bubbles floating everywhere. “Lean forward for me?”</p><p>Zuko bends forward and wraps his arms around his knees. His skin shivers under Sokka’s touch, still sensitive and fire-hot. But Sokka is everything and more, gentle fingers deftly combing through Zuko’s hair, all the way down to the tips floating lazily on the water.</p><p>When Sokka finally stops, Zuko lets out a little whine of protest, pouting when Sokka laughs.</p><p>“Give me a moment to rinse, babe?”</p><p>Zuko nods.</p><p>There’s the sound of water sloshing in the pail, and Zuko’s eyelids flutter shut when the first bit of water washes out most of the foam. He can feel the bubbles rushing down the sides of his face, and he resists the urge to reach up to rub his eyes. The lavender floats away with each pailful of water as Sokka massages out the tension all the while.</p><p>Another click, and Zuko can smell earthy sandalwood from his conditioner escape into the misty bathroom. Sokka is diligent, working in the conditioner from the middle down to the ends of Zuko’s hair, and with each tangle he unravels, a knot unfurls from Zuko’s heart. He pulls his hands out of the water and stares at them, tracing the pruny wrinkles of his fingers.</p><p>Zuko winces when Sokka pulls his way through a particularly stubborn tangle, and a dull pain throbs in the side of his head.</p><p>Sokka stops. “You okay, sweetheart?”</p><p>“I’m fine, really.” Zuko can feel Sokka’s fingers prodding against the tender spot on his head. “It didn’t hurt.”</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>Zuko tilts his head back and looks up, blushing when he realizes that Sokka’s looking down at him, eyes furrowing with worry. “Positive.”</p><p>He yelps when Sokka splashes around to press a kiss on his forehead. The entire moment is peaceful, and if Zuko closes his eyes while Sokka pours more water to rinse out the conditioner, he can almost pretend that it’s only the two of them in this world, just sitting here in soothing silence. Zuko wishes that he can just live like this for a little while, with only the smell of sandalwood and eucalyptus painting the room in relaxation as he rests with Sokka.</p><p>The moment slowly drains away when Sokka reaches to pull out the stopper, pausing only to turn on the faucet to wash out the tub and to pour one final pailful of clean water over both of them before he gingerly steps out of the tub and rummages around in the cabinet, striding into the bedroom and out of sight. Zuko feels like a newborn fawn, weak-kneed and trembling in the sudden cold inside the tub before Sokka returns with a pair of flannel pajama pants hanging from his hips. He reaches down and drapes a bundle of fluffy cotton around Zuko’s shoulders before lifting him out of the tub once again.</p><p>“I can walk, you know,” Zuko protests halfheartedly—but even he knows just how possessive his boyfriend can get, and Sokka’s arms tighten around him just that much more.</p><p>“Shh.” And Sokka’s settling on the side of the bed, still cradling Zuko in his lap as he painstakingly begins to wipe down every inch of Zuko’s body with the towel. “Just let me pamper you.”</p><p>Zuko’s not used to being spoiled. A lifetime of ridicule and resentment has numbed his heart, but he can feel himself softening with every passing second in Sokka’s hug. Zuko wriggles around when Sokka finishes drying his feet, squirming when Sokka moves up his calves, past his thighs, and settling on his waist, murmuring all the while.</p><p>“You have no idea the things you do to me, sweetheart.” Sokka hesitates, dropping a kiss on Zuko’s nose. “You’re so perfect, so pretty and patient, just for me.”</p><p>Zuko’s sure that he’s turning redder than the bouquet of fire lilies on the nightstand.</p><p>Sokka turns slightly to retrieve another towel, his fingers massaging circles into Zuko’s scalp as he gently dries Zuko’s hair and bundles it up in a wrap. Zuko watches as Sokka shifts to retrieve a set of pajamas folded neatly on the side of the bed, and he can feel his heart practically stutter to a halt when he recognizes the blue flannel, the ones he bought on a whim last week in a drunken stupor from Uniqlo with the—</p><p>Sokka smiles sheepishly as he pats the matching red flannel stretched over his knees.</p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p>“I figured, y’know.” Sokka hums as he slips the pajamas onto Zuko, first the right leg, then the left. “You didn’t think I would notice?”</p><p>The dragon buries itself deep inside Zuko’s stomach as he squeaks in embarrassment.</p><p>“Don’t be shy, sweetheart.” Sokka unbuttons the blue flannel top and helps Zuko pull it on, one arm at a time. “I think it’s really cute, actually. How you went ahead and bought two sets of pajamas.”</p><p>“They were buy one, get one half off.”</p><p>Sokka snorts.</p><p>Zuko cocks an eyebrow, his heart thumping unsteadily when Sokka reaches over to button up his shirt with a practiced hand.</p><p>“There we go,” and Sokka’s sliding Zuko off his lap and settling him onto the bed. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”</p><p>Truth be told, Zuko’s half-awake, his eyelids fluttering as he struggles to open his eyes. Sokka’s been nothing but wonderful, with the bath and the towels and the pajamas and—Zuko looks up into his boyfriend’s face and smiles dopily.</p><p>“You look like you’re about to pass out.” Sokka laughs as he catches Zuko before he falls over. “Hold on, I’m gonna dry your hair first. Can’t have you going to bed with wet hair now.”</p><p>“‘s fine.” Zuko burrows his head into Sokka’s shoulder, pressing his ear against Sokka’s chest and grinning when the <em>badump</em>, <em>badump</em> becomes infinitely faster.</p><p>Sokka laughs, and it’s a spectacular sound that rings around the room. “Hair first, cuddle later, okay?”</p><p>Zuko grumbles petulantly, but he closes his eyes and waits for Sokka to towel-dry the rest of his hair. There’s the sound of clinking, and Zuko belatedly realizes that Sokka’s pulled out the hairdryer when a warm gust of air blows past his face and sandalwood envelops his senses once more. Sokka’s patient, fingers smoothing out the tangles of Zuko’s hair, his hands working down the length of Zuko’s hair at a tantalizingly slow pace. If Zuko closes his eyes and listens, he can almost hear Sokka singing something, a haunting tune that drifts just above the din of the hairdryer.</p><p>“Still feeling sleepy?” Sokka finally clicks the hairdryer off and begins working through Zuko’s hair with a fine-tooth comb, and if Zuko can just will himself to open his eyes for just a split second—he can see himself in the mirror on the wall, how his hair has transformed into a shimmering midnight river that flows past his shoulders and down to his waist, how Sokka’s sitting behind him, eyes focused and tongue poking out just so as he works through inch by inch of Zuko’s hair.</p><p>Zuko yawns.</p><p>“Patience, sweetheart. I’m almost done.” Sokka pauses, fumbling with the comb as he runs one final sweep of Zuko’s hair into a smooth waterfall of black. Zuko leans back and nestles his head in the curve of Sokka’s neck, breath relaxing in time to the ebb and flow of Sokka’s chest when Sokka reaches around, tugs Zuko close to him, and just <em>breathes</em>.</p><p>A comfortable silence settles over them, and Zuko sinks deeper into Sokka’s embrace, wondering about what he’s ever done in his life to deserve such a sentimental love as this.</p><p>“Zuko?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“I’m thirsty.”</p><p>“Hold on. I’m going to go make some tea for us,” Zuko murmurs when he finally pulls himself from Sokka’s arms, instantly regretting the loss of warmth around him. “Give me a bit, okay?”</p><p>He stumbles away into the kitchen, ignoring the ache in his back and the soreness in his hips. The mugs are right where Sokka had left them in the cupboard a few weeks back, and Zuko takes down the Totoro mug and the cat mug and places them on a small tray alongside a small teapot of hot water from the kettle. A few spoonfuls of high mountain tea leaves bloom in the water, tiny bubbles floating to the surface as the leaves unfurl, tiny green petals bobbing in the water. The tea is sweet and fragrant on Zuko’s lips, and he picks up the tray and walks back to the bedroom.</p><p>Sokka’s playing with Druk in the bedroom, bouncing a ping-pong ball against the wall and watching the bearded dragon bat at it with his claws. Druk squeaks when Zuko enters the room, crawling towards him as if to ask, <em>where have you been all this time?</em></p><p>“Aw, Druk. Come back to Papa.” Sokka clicks his tongue.</p><p>Druk ambles his way back into Sokka’s arms, and a small smile lingers on Zuko’s face as he watches his boyfriend pick the bearded dragon up, Lion King-style.</p><p>“Papa missed you so much, you silly boy.” Sokka swings Druk back and forth before nuzzling him. “Papa missed you very, very much.”</p><p>Zuko places the tea tray on the nightstand and climbs onto the bed, shuffling until he’s right up against Sokka’s back. He runs his hands over the scars—some old, some new—and wills some warmth into his fingers, massaging slowly, deeply until Sokka lets out a deep sigh.</p><p>“Good spirits, your fingers must be magic.” Sokka’s voice is rough. “You’re too good for me, sweetheart.”</p><p>“It’s the least I can do,” Zuko replies, handing him a mug of tea. “Careful. It might still be too hot.”</p><p>They sit like this, lounging in the quiet stillness in the room, save for the lazy twists of incense coiling upwards and the tea going cold. Suddenly, Sokka pushes off the bed, placing the mug on the tea tray and cradling Druk in his arms. Zuko watches as his boyfriend leaves the room for a moment, the sounds of squeaking and clattering echoing in the dark apartment as he puts Druk back into his tank for the night.</p><p>When Sokka walks back into the bedroom, Zuko’s already dozing off. He’s startled awake when Sokka reaches over and pulls him up, laughing a little and tumbling backwards on the bed. Zuko shrieks in muffled surprise when he lands awkwardly on top of Sokka’s ribs, squirming slightly when he feels two strong arms holding him and never letting go.</p><p>And when Zuko’s eyes flutter shut, he feels the tiniest of kisses on his eyelids, the sound of the sheets rustling and a whisper in his ear—</p><p>“<em>Goodnight, fire lily</em>.”</p><p>Zuko falls asleep to the heartbeat of Sokka’s tides.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks everyone for the comments/kudos :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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